


The unfeasible challenge of catching the unattainable

by Snoozydog



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John, Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Morality, Forced Relationship, Highly Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealous Jim Moriarty, Jealous John, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulative Sherlock, Non-Consensual Touching, POV John Watson, Pining John Watson, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, Slow Romance, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-10-08 08:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 102,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoozydog/pseuds/Snoozydog
Summary: John Watson, former army surgeon with newly developed depressive tendencies and an aimless existence upon returning to civilian life, accepts a job offer from a man of dubious character. While fighting to remain on the right side of both morality and the law, he meets Sherlock Holmes, unattainable genius extraordinaire and falls hard. The problem is, it's not only John that aspires to catch the attention of the exceptional Mr Holmes.





	1. End of an era, the beginning of a new one

The first time I laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes he was engaged to be married.

I had returned from a longer period abroad, working as part of Doctors without borders for seven years and had seen the whole spectra of mankind while travelling from one war-stricken place to the next. I had seen the war generals, the soldiers, the people behind the weapons and the mayhem, sometimes pointing their weapons at me, sometimes at some other misfortunate soul, but I had also seen the other side of war: the victims, the injured, the dead, the refugees fleeing the danger zones as best they could and all the time placing myself somewhere in between, someone not part of the conflict, there to help but still caught in the middle of it. 

It was exciting, stressful, often dangerous and at the same time everything I ever wanted.  
The combination of being able to help, while risking my own life, making a difference to people but also seeing all that pain and carnage up close, it was unsettling and often caused me nightmares when I had the luxury to be able to sleep, but it was also the only reality I was accustomed to after leaving Britain seven years earlier.  
So when it was snatched away from me by a stray bullet ripping my shoulder to shreds and thus ending my career as a surgeon, I felt myself plunged into a hole of depression and uncertainty about both my future and my self-worth. 

On my return home I had nothing , no prospects, no money or family to speak of.  
My only living family member, my sister, had left our home town a long time ago.  
We were never close and while she dutifully came to visit me while I was still hospitalized in Kabul we had nothing to say to each other and she left as quickly as she came ,after assessing that I was going to survive my injury. 

The fact that she was an alcoholic, significantly older than me, constantly unsuccessful in her life choices and had always been the black sheep of the family might have played in to it, old resentments ran deep and I felt nothing when she left, having given up the pretence of a relationship between us many years ago.

On my return home I was not only broken physically but also mentally to a certain degree.  
I was plagued by my experiences and had developed a limp in my leg that the doctors said was psychosomatic and totally unrelated to my injury, but I insisted that it plagued me whenever I tried walking without a cane and in the end no one cared enough for me to talk me out of that delusion. 

I was sent to a psychiatrist of course and I sat there, unable to talk about myself after so many years of only focusing on others, and the most sensible help I received was the suggestion to change location and try building a life for myself in a new place. 

As nothing was keeping me in my hometown anymore and London was the closest town available with the most opportunities for me, I moved there.  
The first two months I spent in a bedsit in the suburbs, refusing the antidepressants the psychiatrist prescribed me and sinking deeper into my unfortunate fate until I was told to snap out of it by a frustrated social worker that bluntly informed me that the benefit I was receiving on acount of my injury was too meagre to keep me living in London and that a scarred shoulder and a psychosomatic limp was no reason to continue to stay unemployed.  
I had to find a job, if not as a doctor then as something else, whatever could increase my income, or I would soon find myself without even the small bedsit to call a home.

She suggested reaching out to other people in my situation and arranged for a meeting with a group of war veterans residing in a basement in Tower Hamlets, two times a week.  
In retrospect it was the beginning of my way out of depression and it landed me a job, but at the time I resented being set up with this group of people, I hated myself for being looked upon as one of them and I felt angry about the fact that I had no other choice but going to these meetings to try and make connections with a bunch of people I had no wish to speak to at all.

It was there that I met Sebastian Moran.

Why he was there in the first place didn’t occur to me until later.  
He was not a war veteran per se, even if he was a former military man. He was not injured, not a social outcast like the rest of us and he was not sharing any experiences from his time out in the field.  
Quite contrary he both looked and behaved like person still active within the field, and while the majority of the group sat in a circle and talked about what it was like returning to civilian life, the difficulties adjusting and how isolated some of them felt, both Moran, myself and a couple of others lingered in the periphery, not really part of the group, nursing coffee in our hands. 

Sebastian Moran stood out from the rest, so obviously he caught my attention.  
He was tall, looked strong and broad-shouldered, with an efficient haircut in a non-descript colour and he mostly observed, not really talking to anyone. 

For some reason I gravitated towards him although I knew nothing of his situation. Maybe because he exuded an air of capability that I myself used to identify with, but no longer felt, or maybe I just wanted be that type of person again. 

Whatever the reason I took the courage to approach him by the end of the meeting, while we were walking up the stairs, me limping with a slight effort and he right behind me.  
It gave me an excuse to talk to him, apologising for blocking his way and as a conversation starter ask him if he was a regular to these meetings.

At first he didn’t say much and he didn’t answer my question about being a regular either, but as we reached the top of the stairs a halting conversation had started between us and when I reluctantly told him that I was a former surgeon, having worked in war zones, a glimmer of interest flashed in his eyes.  
No one had paid me any interest since my return from Kabul and I hungered for it like a dog for a bone, so before he had the opportunity to make his excuses and head off, I suggested we go to a pub nearby for a beer. 

If he had declined my offer, none of the events that followed would have happened, I would probably never have returned for a second meeting with the war veterans and I would never have met Sherlock Holmes.

But he did agree to come with me, we had more than one beer and more importantly, we got talking.  
In hindsight he didn’t really offer that much information about himself, but he made me feel like I mattered for the first time in a long time, so the words kept pouring out of me and when he finally excused himself I felt drained but happy and not so isolated as I had been before. I went home with the sort of energy you can get when connecting with someone you feel is listening and understands you. In reality I was probably just lonely and grateful for the company. 

When the veterans were meeting again two days later I went with a feeling of anticipation and by the end of it I left with the offer of a work opportunity.

Sebastian Moran was a recruiter of sorts and although he didn’t convey that many details he said that his employer always was in need of staff, if the right person came along.  
The fact that I was a doctor, the only one among this group, and also used to the grimes of difficult working environments was an appealing trait and something his employer would be very interested in.

“I can’t guarantee that he will employ you, he will want to meet you first, but he sounded interested when I told him about you and I can’t see why he would turn you away. You’re more than qualified for his needs, John.”

I asked him what the position was, but he just told me that it would be better to meet with the boss first and go over the details after that, depending on the outcome.

He offered to send a car for me the following day, no bother with any particular dress code, just come as I was and meet his boss and my possible employer.


	2. Meeting the boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets to meet his new employer. It's not at all what he expected.

The following day a black sedan drove up to the curb outside the boarding house where I rented my bedsit. A window was pulled down and a hand inside gestured for me to get inside. Unsure if I should sit in the back or up front, I decided to go for the front seat but a non-descript younger man in a dark suit shook his head and nodded to the back so I slipped in there instead and the car got moving.

The journey was long and quiet as the driver was not inclined to talk, but my anticipation kept me alert, trying to deduce something about where we were headed. Unfortunately, without a deeper knowledge of the area, I came up empty. 

Eventually we rolled up ta large gate with cameras and an intercom, as well as two guards on either side. We passed through the gate and drove further up the road towards a house more reminiscent of a mansion , residing upon a small hillside. 

The house was a monstrosity in grey, steel and glass. Very modern and expensive-looking with a huge lawn and a garden surrounding it.  
Still, the tranquillity of the place was marred by the fact that men seemed to parade the grounds, no weapons on display but their presence implied something inside worth guarding and it gave me an unpleasant feeling in my stomach.  
What was this place? The lair of a Bond villain? 

As the car finally stopped in front of the entrance a man came out to greet me.

“Dr Watson. I’ll be showing you the way. Follow me, please.”

The driver didn’t say anything and as soon as I was out of the car, he drove away without even a glance in my direction.  
The man who had come out to greet me was equally careful of not really looking at me and was just as non-descript as the driver had been. I wouldn’t be able to pick them out in a crowd if my life depended on it.

I tried talking to him as he showed me inside and started to climb a huge staircase that spiralled up several floors above us. 

“Um, is Mr Moran here? I thought he would welcome me and maybe give some information about what is expected of me before meeting…”

I didn’t even have a name of the man who would possibly be my employer, so I trailed of.  
The man in front of me didn’t bother turning his face in my direction when speaking to me, he just kept climbing the stairs while replying.

“Colonel Moran is expecting you, he is waiting for you in the office.”

_Colonel?_  
Really?  
He hadn’t mentioned it, even if I had suspected some sort of military title.  
There was no point in asking any further questions it seemed, the guide wasn’t very forthcoming, so I focused on just following him and mentally preparing myself for whatever waited when we finally reached our destination. 

__Two floors up, at a light and airy space with several white doors to choose from, the man led me to the one in the middle and lightly knocked on it.  
After waiting a second without a reply, he opened the door, stepped back and let me in, before closing the door behind my back and disappeared._ _

___The room was big and spacious, with a huge mahogany desk by the large French window facing the garden outside, sleek modern furniture and at the same time the unmistakable touch of wealth to the place, from the thick crème-coloured carpet to the white leather sofa in one of the corners._  
It was luxurious, bordering on the audaciously over the top style of new money.  
Not that I knew how old money looked like, but the room had a feeling of being a bit too much. A large chandelier with chrome rims around it, covering a third of the ceiling, was the most conspicuous piece in the room, a combination of new design and a traditional symbol of prosperity. 

___Next to the desk Sebastian Moran was standing, as if in attention, and behind it, in a large black leather chair, sat a dark-haired man in a grey, seemingly expensive suit, with dark brown eyes and a small smile playing on his lips._  
His appearance was slightly odd, both menacing and simpering at the same time, small in stature but still exuding power from every inch of his body. Not threatening at all, but still giving you the sense of being in the presence of supremacy, ready to strike at any moment.  
It threw me off at first and I turned my eyes to look at Moran instead, much more comfortable with his demeanour which looked like I remembered him. I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten myself into. 

__“Dr Watson, welcome!”_ _

__It was the man behind the desk who spoke first. His voice had an Irish lilt to it, much more smooth than his appearance would have made me guess, although also slightly high-pitched. It marred the first impression a bit, giving me a somewhat childish impression of him._ _

__Exposing no sign of my inner thoughts I straightened my back and approached him, hand outstretched to greet him, but he made no move to extend his own hand, so I let I fall down again._ _

__“Please, sit down. “_ _

__He gestured to an armchair next to the table and I seated myself, leaning the cane up against the armrest while trying to look like I was calm and sure of myself. I had nothing to lose by being here, the worst thing that could happen would be for the man to not want to employ me and although that would feel like a slight to my ego it would still just be a missed job opportunity, nothing else. No reason for me to feel nervous.  
But why did it feel like I had just walked inside a lion’s den?_ _

__“Sebastian here tells me that you until recently worked as a doctor in different war-torn areas around the globe, as a surgeon more specifically.”_ _

__I nodded without verbally replying. No need to show my sudden hesitance at being here._ _

__“Where you any good?”_ _

__The question was so straight-forward and blunt that I didn’t know how to answer it at first, but when I saw that he wasn’t joking, although a smile still lingered on his lips, I cleared my throat and answered. Depression might have caught me in its claws, made me doubt myself as person, but I knew that my capabilities as a doctor had never been anything but excellent. I had done my job well, so no need to underplay that fact._ _

__“Yes. Very good if I may say so myself.”_ _

__The smile broadened and he nodded._ _

__“That’s good. So, the knowledge is still there…even if your arm isn’t really functioning like it should anymore. A gunshot wound to the shoulder, was it?”_ _

__His directness was bordering on rude and irritation immediately flared up inside me, but as I looked at Sebastian Moran, he looked at me with such calmness that I felt reassured of the situation again.  
I decided to take back a little of my lost control by asking him a question of my own, ignoring his about the wounded shoulder._ _

__“I’m afraid Sebastian wasn’t very forthcoming when he asked me to come here today. He said there was some sort of job offer?”_ _

__“And there is. For the right type of person.”_ _

__When he didn’t continue, I felt forced to keep asking, despite the risk of perhaps coming off as too forward. I didn’t like the uncertainty of the situation and it prickled my senses._ _

__“And what sort of job are we talking about?” I ventured._ _

__His dark eyes scrutinized me and it made me uncomfortable, even though I didn't know exactly why._ _

__“Did you ever have to use a weapon during your years in the service?”_ _

__“Yes. In self-defence, sometimes to defend the patients from enemies attacking our camp.”_ _

__“Have you killed someone?”_ _

__I furrowed my brow. What kind of question was that? What type of job was he offering?_ _

__“Not on purpose, no,” I finally said when he just kept looking at me with his dark strange eyes._ _

__“But unintentionally?”_ _

__“Like I said, sometimes things need to happen in order to defend the patients.”_ _

__The smile was now growing even further, and it made me frankly uncomfortable to watch. He had a reptilian feeling about him._ _

__“That is the essence of what I am looking for, doctor. Just the right type of answer to this particular need I have.”_ _

__I started to shake my head, this was beginning to sound like some strange criminal drama on the telly where an unsuspecting person gets involved with a crime gang and is turned hitman after the first twenty minutes. And however desperate I was for something to get me out of my downward spiral I would never agree to kill people for money, no matter what._ _

__“I’m not interested in any…shooting, if that’s what you’re after.”_ _

__He started to laugh while I was still talking, and his laugh had such a childish quality it startled me. He made it sound a bit cringe-worthy, but at the same time I didn’t doubt he had a bite to him if needed._ _

__“Oh no! If I had wanted something like that Sebastian wouldn’t have wasted both of our time by bringing you here. What I’m looking for is much more specific and I feel confident that he has actually managed to bring me just that.”_ _

__My irritation was flaring up again. It was like playing a game of table tennis in the dark, balls kept coming my way and I did my best to hit them but was handicapped by the ambiguity around me and it left me feeling frustrated rather than intrigued by the prospect of a job._ _

__“What I need is a doctor. But not just any doctor. Someone with a deeper knowledge than the general practitioner you can get at any health clinic. Someone who also feels the necessity to protect his patient and go beyond normal protocol if needed in order to do that.”_ _

__“And is that patient you, Mr…?_ _

__“No. It’s not a patient at all. Yet. It’s still very uncertain in what direction this thing will go, but a doctor is still always good to have on standby. It might prove useful very soon.”_ _

__Unsure of what to say I waited for him to continue but all of a sudden it felt like he had lost interest in the conversation._ _

__“You can talk through the practicalities with Sebastian. If you feel like you need to get something from that deplorable bedsit you currently reside in, then do feel free to do so. Otherwise, everything you need is here.”_ _

__And with that I was dismissed._ _


	3. Passing the time when time passes slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins his new job. But the question is what that new job really consists of?

My first days in my new employment were spent trying to figure out what exactly I was hired to do. 

To my surprise there was a fully equipped treatment room available in the house, stacked with all the needs a doctor would require treating someone with the more basic type of ailments. There was even a small laboratory available if tests needed to be taken and to my astonishment I wondered how this could be. Had someone held my position before me? When remarking that I wasn’t really that well educated in the takings and readings of tests, I was informed that a lab assistant was available if needed. 

I decided to have a talk with Sebastian.  
He was the one who had helped me out during the first couple of days, settling in, and he had also helped me gather a small suitcase with personal items from the bedsit and then showed me to my new room, where I supposedly was to live from now on.  
It was situated near the huge staircase in the centre of the house.

“So you can come quickly, if needed.”, he explained and I wondered what kind of situation would require that kind of haste.

Except for my room there were only two other rooms on the same floor, much larger than mine. On of them was a library, the other one a suite that looked like a guest room. At the moment no one was occupying it. 

My room was much larger than the small bedsit I had lived in previously.  
Actually it was larger than anything I had inhabited before. Granted, I was used to cramped spaces, working as a travelling doctor for Doctor’s without borders didn’t provide any large accommodations, as a child I had shared a room with my sister and during my years as a medical student I had always shared rooms with other students.  
Now I had something resembling both a bedroom and a small living room/office.  
The treatment facility was two floors below and spacious enough for me to have a desk, a book shelf and a computer if I felt like separating my private rooms from my work. Not that I had any private life to speak of, or a clear view of what my work really was.

As soon as I had moved in and made myself comfortable, I started asking Sebastian questions. To begin with, I wanted to know the name of my new employer.  
To my surprise I got the impression that Moran was hesitant to inform me of that at first, as if by doing so he was giving away some sort of secret. But when he saw my confusion, he seemingly changed his mind and started talking.

“His name is James Moriarty. Mr Moriarty to his employers, never ever his first name. Usually we call him boss though, sometimes Sir, depending on the person addressing him. In your case I would go with Mr Moriarty.”

“And what does Mr Moriarty do for a living?”

Sebastian gave me a shrewd look, assessing me before answering.

“He’s a businessman of sorts. He works in several diverse areas, as a provider of different types of services. IT, information and technology for example, but also exports and imports. It’s a very vast organisation.”

“Ok. I never heard of him before.”

“No, he isn’t really visible like many other entrepreneurs are. He isn’t a slave to a brand, so he doesn’t need to advertise his services. The people who require his expertise know how to get in contact. “

I got the feeling that he didn't want to divulge the matter any further so I changed the subject, asking about his own role instead.

“And what are you to him? I heard something about you being a colonel?”

Sebastian laughed dryly.

“I am. But not in any real capacity anymore. But you know how it is, a title is still something you’ve earned, however obsolete in your daily life. The staff here in the house call me colonel Moran. To the boss I’m Sebastian or simply Moran. As I introduced myself as Sebastian to you, you can continue calling me that when we talk like this. The boss probably prefers that you address me as Mr Moran officially though.”

“So, hard on etiquette then, Mr Moriarty?”

He gave me a smirk and shook his head. He had a way of disarming my questions in a way that gave me the confidence to keep asking him whatever I wondered about. Everyone else in the house only used the minimum amount of words when talking and never really looked at me. To them I was a chore and to me they were ghosts.

“Hm, not really. It’s more a way of asserting that the hierarchy is understood by everyone here. He is as far away from rules and etiquette as you can get, but at the same time it is important to remember that there is only him at the top, and whoever you are, he decides what position you have in the pecking order. It doesn’t matter what you do for him or how long you have known him, that’s irrelevant. If he likes you, he might refer to you by your first name, but make no mistake, it does not imply that you can do the same to him. He is never James to anyone, and everyone here is disposable.”

“That doesn’t sound like the greatest employer,” I muttered.

“On the contrary. It makes it easier to perform the job he requires of you if you know the rules. It’s ambiguity that causes problems. “

When Sebastian came by after lunch on my third day at the new job, I finally asked him how come there was a minor medical centre, complete with all kinds of useful equipment, installed in the house.

“Is it new or has anyone worked here before me?” 

Yet again he gave me that contemplative look before answering.

“There was someone here before you, but he wasn’t really suitable. It’s been empty for a while now.”

This information just piqued my interest even more.

“Did he quit?”

“He retired.”

Sebastian Moran was a man difficult to read. His facial expressions often remained stony and uncommunicative, never rude or distancing but never conveying more than necessary, so it was difficult to suss out what kind of situation I was finding myself in. 

I had no real job to speak of, but a fully equipped room ready to be used.  
There were no specific instructions on what I was supposed to do or what my working title was, but I received my first pay check on my very first day in the house and it was a generous sum considering that I had done nothing to deserve the money.  
I had no real idea of what my employer did for a living and no search on the internet came up with any clues. Neither did I find Sebastian Moran when I searched, with the title or without. On the other hand, a search of my own name showed up zero results as well, so that didn’t really mean anything. Not all people were searchable on the internet. 

When a whole week had passed, with me trying to pass the time, acquainting myself with my surroundings and the other people in the house, but still ended up feeling just as ignorant as the week before, I decided to go searching for someone that could shed some light on my situation. 

Although I was allowed to leave the house at any time, use the internet, use a mobile, walk the premises and so forth, I got the feeling that I was being kept under guard, despite the fact that I seldom saw anyone else in the house except for cleaning staff, the servant that brought me food and a gardener working on the premises.  
My employer had not been visible since that first meeting. I didn’t even know if he was still in the house and even Sebastian Moran disappeared after the first three days, not to be seen again. 

I went looking for him, as he was the only contact I had in this new place, but wandering around the house, looking in all the rooms, it felt abandoned, like a hotel with no guests. Except for me.

I was beginning to question what I really was doing here. Despite being offered a salary, food and a room, it was starting to feel like I was wasting my time.  
If it hadn’t been for the fact that I had absolutely nothing else to return to I would have given up and left after that first week. 

But as the memory of that social worker calling me out on my impassiveness to improve my living situation while I was living on benefits in my small bedsit, I decided to at least give it a month, however strange and frankly boring my new situation was proving to be.

And during the second week at the house, I met Sherlock Holmes for the first time.


	4. New developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something finally happens and John mets Sherlock for the first time

I woke up by the middle of my second week at the house by a loud pounding on my door, followed by heavy feet outside, running.  
There were other noises too, voices of different people and Sebastian calling my name, urging me to open up.  
I had a habit of locking the door when I went to bed, a part of me doing it out of precaution without knowing what for, and no one had seemed to comment on it until now.  
I looked over at my alarm clock which glowed in the dark and displayed 04;35 in green digits. As my days on the field had prepared me of waking up whenever necessary, I jumped out of bed and opened the door to whatever situation was awaiting me behind it.

Sebastian Moran as well as two other men where there, almost dragging me out of the room as I opened the door.

“Come! Quickly! We have someone in need of your help.”

It was Sebastian who spoke, and I followed him down the stairs to the treatment room where the door was wide open and the lights inside were on.  
On the examining table lay a man with a still bleeding flesh wound in his thigh, blood trickling in a steady flow. Someone had tried tying something around it to prevent the bleeding, but it still looked severe enough for me to question why they hadn’t rushed him to A&E. 

“What’s happened?”

“Knife wound. He’s been stabbed.”

“Stabbed?! But why in God’s name have you brought him here? He should be treated in hospital!”

Ignoring my outburst Sebastian just shook his head.

“It’s what we have you for, Doctor.”  
I looked at Sebastian who was the one speaking. The other two men remained silent.

“But, really…”, I began but was interrupted by him, he was beginning to lose patience.

“He doesn’t have insurance. He’s an employee of Mr Moriarty, a foreigner, doesn’t speak a word of English. No use taking him to a hospital when we have an equally good doctor of our own right here. Now get to work, Doctor Watson, he’s already lost a large amount of blood!”

The last part was barked out, reminiscent of an order and it jolted me into action.  
I didn’t like the feeling of this, not one bit and I was beginning to suspect foul play as far as my employer was concerned, but I had to think about that later, for now focus had to be on the man in front of me. 

It was the first time since being shot that I worked as a doctor again but, as Moriarty had said, the knowledge was there, I knew what to do and ordered the other men in the room to assist me with necessary equipment. As I had examined the room thoroughly during the previous week, I knew what I had to rely on, what equipments that were available and in the end I put in the eeffort to do my best, however suspicious the circumstances were. Because of my injury and the lack of practice, my hand was not as steady as it once had been. Doing the stitches caused it to tremor slightly and I winced at the frankly botched up result, but the man would survive at least and I was glad that nothing more intricate had been necessary.

As the patient was out of immediate danger, the wound cleaned and stitched up, suitable pain relief administered and he was about to be moved to another room to rest, I felt drained but still determined to have a talk with Sebastian. As the others took care of moving the patient I grabbed him by the arm to prevent him from leaving with the rest.  
He calmly looked down at my hand around his arm, clearly not liking me touching him, but not saying anything and as I concluded that he wasn’t going to leave I released him.

“I think I will need some sort of explanation. If this is a part of criminal activity I’m not interested in participating.”

“What makes you think this is something relating to crime?”

“Because you turn up in the middle of the night with a man that has been stabbed rather badly in his thigh, but your first instinct is to bring him here instead of to a hospital. That’s hell of suspicious!”

He smiled slightly at my exclamation.

“What do you think employing a private doctor means, if not treating patients _in private? _“__

“Well, now that you mention it, I’m not quite sure _what_ I’m actually employed for! I’ve been sitting on my arse for over a week now, not knowing what it is I'm expected to do for Mr Moriarty.”

“And now you know. This, these types of situations are one thing. Your main reason for being here will be clear soon enough and trust me, you won’t be hesitating over what is expected of you then. But for now, see it as the calm before the storm, a chance to settle in, practice your skills on situations like these."  
“Is this something that is going to be happening on a regular basis?”  
“No, not really. Whatever it is that you think you have figured out, this is not a common occurrence. Mr Moriarty is not in the habit of having his staff stabbed. This was an accident, nothing more.” 

“And if I tell that I found that being highly unlikely?”

Sebastian was beginning to lose his patience now and there was a snarl to his voice when he replied. 

“Then that is your opinion and you can do whatever you want with it. But as long as you’re an employer of Mr Moriarty, that better not get in the way of what you’re here to do. If you look at it objectively, all you did was to perform your doctoral duties and isn’t that really all you need to know? Whatever your employer and his staff get up to is of no relevance to you.”

I was having none of it. Irritation at being kept in the dark, to be just a performing monkey, was beginning to grate on my nerves. Stubbornly I challenged him despite the risk a confrontation might put me in. If my instincts were right, he was a criminal and probably armed too. 

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you are of no further need to us. But I would consider that action carefully, because as far as I remember, you didn’t have much going for you out there, in the real world.”

I felt like I had been slapped in the face, and to add salt to injury, by someone I had felt a connection to, the first person I had put at least a resemblance of trust in, after returning from Kabul. But before I had a chance to respond he was out the door and I was left with my own thoughts and a feeling of sinking deeper into a situation I no longer had any control of.

The next day a servant came up to me while I was cleaning the wound of my anonymous patient.  
Sebastian had been correct when he said the man spoke no English and I had to give up trying to gather information from him and settle for being his doctor instead.

“Dr Watson. Your presence is required at a small dinner party this evening. A suit has been delivered to your room and Mr Moriarty asks you to be present in the living room downstairs at seven tonight.”

I thought about Moran and his words about me not asking more questions than necessary to perform my job and although I hadn’t decided if I still wanted this job, I wasn’t going to leave until my first, and possibly last, patient was well enough to manage without my help.  
So instead of trying to ask a servant who I knew would not inform me any further of anything, I simply nodded and promised to be there on time.

At a quarter to seven I descended the stairs from my room down to the first floor. 

The suit that had been provided for me was surprisingly fitting and I wondered how that could be. Had someone gone to the trouble of looking up my size and if so, had they gone through my meagre assortment of clothes without me noticing?  
It was nothing extravagant, just a normal charcoal suit and a white shirt with an accompanying tie in a slightly darker shade of grey and a pair of polished black Oxfords, my very first pair, as dress shoes had never been my thing.  
It was discreetly elegant but still more of a formality than really dressing up and probably on account of me attending a dinner where my employer wanted me to look presentable. 

As I walked through the doors, I noticed that people had already arrived.  
The host was seated on one of the sofas, dressed to the nines in a much more eye-catching suit than mine and hair glistening with product, suitably slicked back.  
Sebastian Moran was standing behind him, glass in his hand and seemingly casual, but I was struck by the same thought I had when first seeing them together on the day of the interview, it was like he was standing in attendance but pretending to give the illusion of just happening to stay close by his boss.  
What did that mean exactly? Was he some sort of upgraded bodyguard?  
And also, what type of man needed his own personal bodyguard anyway?  
Someone with the risk of being under threat of course, like politicians, celebrities and controversial figures for instance. And a certain type of criminal perhaps, the ones who had enough power to risk catching the attention of both rivals and the police. 

I shook my head. No use analysing without any facts. Maybe the world of business he was in was highly competitive too, maybe it was as simple as that, a powerful man with some resentful enemies. Or my imagination really was leading me down the wrong paths, as there was no evidence except my gut telling me that it looked like Sebastian Moran was guarding his boss like a faithful dog.

I decided to let it to go and concentrated on the rest of the people in the room as I made my way inside, taking a glass being offered to me by a passing servant, wondering why my presence was being required this evening.

There were about ten people in the room, all men, mostly in their middle age or older, Moriarty, me and Sebastian being the youngest. They looked like the normal business types, dressed in various degrees of discreet elegance, all of them more smartly than me, but none of the same ilk as Moriarty, who had a showier approach. They were assembled around in small groups, one of them talking to the host, the others hovering nearby and there was no question as to who was the centre of attention in the room.

“Dr Watson!” Moriarty called out as he caught sight of me and politely I approached, as the man sitting next to Moriarty hastily rose and stepped back. 

“Come sit.”

I seated myself on the still warm spot that had just been occupied, not too close to the man but still sufficiently close so as not to be perceived as rude.  
He contemplated me with his dark eyes, sipping on his drink but not saying anything. It felt a bit unsettling and I was just about to break the silence between us when I was interrupted by three additional guests arriving, causing a few murmurs in the room and thus catching my attention, as well as Moriarty’s. 

The first one was a tall thin man in his late forties-early fifties, with spectacles and thinning light hair. He almost glided rather than walked in, letting his eyes take in the room with a cool, slightly superior look on his face.   
Behind him, to his left, two other men entered, at first obscured by the tall man in front of them but fully visible as they stepped into the light.  
The first man was clearly a bodyguard. An official one, in contrast to whatever Sebastian Moran was to Moriarty.  
Dressed in a dark suit and an earpiece, with that anonymous look that came with someone trying to blend in, but at the same time signalling to people to stand back from the person he was in charge of. If that person was the first man with the spectacles or the person to his left was however hard to ascertain on first sight.

As the final man stepped into the room and the light fell on him, I couldn’t help but stare.  
Next to me Moriarty straightened up as well and the room went from whispering murmurs to almost complete silence with the last arrival. 

He was younger than the rest of us, maybe five years my junior, possibly more. Tall and slim, clad in a black suit that fitted his frame like a glove, accentuating the narrow waist and the broadening of the shoulders to perfection. Beneath, he had a white shirt, but no tie, and the top two buttons undone, exposing a long elegant throat of milky white complexion. 

The face was the most striking though. Angular, high cheekbones, plush lips and cat-like eyes with shifting colours of green, blue and flecks of gold, feral looking and visible beneath a cascade of black curls adorning his head. _A vision _my head helpfully contributed while the rest of me kept staring.__  
As did the rest of the room I noticed when I finally composed myself enough to break free, not all for the same reasons as me though. 

“Magnificent, isn’t he?” Moriarty whispered next to me and I startled from his sudden proximity. He had leaned forward while I had been busy watching the arrivals and his words were whispered, for only me to hear. 

Despite not really being the type of person to vocally express such things I hummed in agreement, if nothing else my demeanour had already exposed me.  
Luckily the object of our attention was not looking at us, he continued his journey behind the man in front of him, a haughty and slightly bored expression on his face, seemingly not looking specifically at anyone in the room, just letting his eyes wander freely, observing the surroundings.  
A waiter presented him with the option of a drink but he just made a dismissive gesture with his hand while the man in front of him took opportunity of the offer and provided himself with a glass, while heading in our direction.

Moriarty rose from his seat, eyes on the younger man but extending his hand to the man with the spectacles.

“Mr Magnussen, welcome. And you too, Mr Holmes. A real pleasure seeing you here.”

He said it like a satisfied purr and the younger man, Mr Holmes apparently, turned his eyes to look at him, nodding slightly but not verbally responding.  
The man called Magnussen didn’t give either Moriarty or the rest of us his attention, just simply nodded in the direction of one of the men standing further back in the room and started to move towards him instead.  
Moriarty, seemingly only interested in the man called Holmes, gestured vaguely in my direction, without giving up eye contact with him, and made the introduction. 

“Dr John Watson, meet Sherlock Holmes.”


	5. Dinner time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner party which proves to be a game changer for John. He learns a little more about Sherlock, Magnussen and Moriarty as well as getting a good meal out of it.

Soon after, we retreated to the dining room for dinner.

Moriarty was at the high end of the table of course, with Mr Magnussen placed to his left and Sherlock Holmes to his right. The bodyguard was standing against the wall behind the younger man. 

I was surprised to see Moran seated next to me, far away from his boss. The man himself didn’t seem bothered though, he was his usual calm self and despite our exchange of words last night, I found myself relieved to at least have one familiar face close by.  
As the starter was being served, I took the opportunity to ask him about the evening, it’s purpose and who all these people were. 

I was mostly interested in the last arrival and I found myself glancing in his direction on several occasions.  
He didn’t seem to notice, he didn’t really seem to pay anyone any attention, despite efforts from both Mr Magnussen and Moriarty. He only replied when directly addressed.

“Who are all these people?” I asked my table companion.

Sebastian took a spoonful of the spiced cauliflower soup and I could see his mouth twisting in a loop-sided smile.

“You mean, who is Prince Grumpy and his reptilian companion with the spectacles?”

I coughed, not expecting him to be so straight forward and I noticed Moriarty throwing a glare in our direction.  
As soon as the attention was off us again, I nodded.

“Well, yeah.”

“Charles Magnussen you would have heard of if you hadn’t been abroad until recently. He’s mainly a media mogul, think of him as a Scandinavian Rupert Murdoch, who specialises in information. The type of information he has is what makes him powerful. That’s why he’s here. He and the boss are planning a possible future collaboration. This is the courting phase”

I chanced a look at the man where he sat beside Moriarty. I couldn’t hear what he was talking about, his voice was too low, smooth, with a foreign accent. He was looking at the man opposite him, Sherlock Holmes, who was letting the spoon stir his soup without actually eating it, but the conversation was being had with Moriarty. Moriarty in his turn was looking positively gleeful, alternately eating and talking while looking at both men on either side of him. 

“The other one, with the permanently arrogant expression, he is Mr Magnussen’s fiancé.”

I felt something like shock hit me and couldn’t help myself, blurting out:

“Really?!”

Sebastian had finished eating his starter and gave a bemused smile without looking at me.  
He was better at this gossiping without giving yourself away-business, outwardly he didn’t even seem to be talking to me, just enjoying the food and drink.  
When he didn’t reply I took the opportunity to finish up my starter as well and give the other people around the table my attention.  
No one was really interested in me and I still had no idea why I was here, but it was interesting to be able to observe without the pressure of really participating.  
The other guests talked among themselves mostly, but their attention was noticeably focused on the end of the table where Moriarty was seated.  
I wondered if they were his business partners or something else.

The main course consisted of cumin-crusted lamb with shallots and roasted potatoes and was the first well-cooked meal I had eaten in a long time.  
I was a half-decent cook myself, but my finances hadn’t allowed for anything more complicated than what I could make on a small cooking plate, so my meals had mostly consisted of baked beans, sausages and fried eggs.  
Therefore, I relished the meal in front of me and my surroundings faded away to the background as I ate. 

But as I was beginning to get full, it all came back to focus and I looked over at Sherlock Holmes for the umptieth time, seeing him picking away at the food on his plate, taking small bites but mostly just pushing it around with his fork. 

I might have been staring a little too long because suddenly he turned his head to look straight at me.  
Something clenched nervously in my abdomen as I met his eyes and stared into them.  
He was frankly the most gorgeous person I had ever seen. Arrogant looking, yes, but I was perfectly willing to overlook that fact if offered the chance to know him more intimately. If given the opportunity I might even be able to wipe that arrogance off his face and teach him a more humble expression, a thought that made me hum inside. 

I had been involved with my fair share of men and also a few women in my day, it was natural to hook up with someone when you travelled from place to place, never making any commitments but still being able to feel the comfort of companionship and intimacy with a person who shared your experiences.  
I did miss them when one of us transferred to the next location, but I always found comfort in someone new eventually, and that had been my full experience of relationships: short and sweet with no lasting effects and probably never any deeper feelings, at least not for my part.

But looking at him now, this person with his translucent skin, dark curls and luscious lips, I felt such strong lust that it resembled a physical force slapping me straight in the face, a feeling previously not experienced since my teenage years when hormones were running all over the place.  
A good old-fashioned crush.  
Maybe I had been alone too long….

Furthermore, it gnawed on me tremendously that he apparently was engaged to Mr Magnussen, a fact that, when looking at them, was extremely mind-boggling.  
Not only was there an obvious age gap, but just by looking at them they seemed nothing alike.  
Granted, I hadn’t spoken to Magnussen at all and only exchanged the essential greeting phrases with Holmes (in my mind already Sherlock) but they exuded nothing resembling intimacy between them and they appeared to be very different types of people. 

It was very frustrating to first be introduced to someone who provoked that kind of electric spark in me, just to be told that he was already taken.  
There was really no point in keeping up a pretence of having a shot at him and steeling glances, but I couldn’t help indulging myself a little.

Embarrassed at having been caught staring I turned my eyes away, but at the corner of my eye I saw that he continued to look at me a little longer, until Magnussen said something to him, and he turned towards him instead.  
I could also sense Moriarty giving me a look as well and made the effort to not be caught staring again. 

Next to me Sebastian had finished his meal.  
Like me he wasn’t participating in the conversation and no one seemed inclined to talk to him either, so none of us had anything other to do than focus on the food. Taking advantage of Moriarty being engaged in conversation with his two companions and the man on my other side talking to someone on his left, I turned to Sebastian again.

“So, who are all these people? Business associates?"

He sighed before lifting his glass to his lips. It might have been to prevent someone seeing his lips move, or maybe I was just being paranoid.  
Either options seemed plausible.

“Look, John. I thought I made it clear last night that you have a choice here. Stay ignorant and have the opportunity to leave without being none the wiser if you choose to. If I give you further information that choice is taken from you. Then there is no turning back.”

He delivered this in a low voice, only for me to hear, but I sensed that he was putting himself out on a limb by informing me of this and thankfully Moriarty’s focus was somewhere else at the moment.

I understood what he meant, and earlier, especially last night when treating the stabbed man, I might have felt even more strongly about leaving this place and take no further part in what increasingly seemed to indicate dubious activity taking place here.  
But this evening my curiosity had taken the upper hand of my sense and it suddenly didn’t feel like such an easy decision to make anymore.  
As a doctor I had done nothing more than my duty by helping the injured man.  
I had no further knowledge of what had caused his injuries and I had not participated in anything criminal myself.  
If I wanted more information (and let’s be honest, I did) how implicated would that make me in whatever activities my employer was a part of? 

A big incentive was my wish to know more about Sherlock Holmes.  
I would not be given more information without stepping down from my high horse and sense of moral, but was it worth it? I didn’t even know the man, I was simply reacting to a bodily emotion.

Another, more reluctantly admitted, but still valid point, was what Sebastian had thrown in my face the night before.  
I had nothing else going for me besides this and I was not temped to return to my lonely existence, spending my days alternating between visiting my psychiatrist and simply sitting cooped up in my room. 

Afterwards I might have blamed it on having a weak moment, maybe the food and drink as well as Sherlock Holmes presence influenced me, but in reality it was most likely my own curiosity that finally won out and I heard myself replying to Sebastian that I chose to have more knowledge.

“Well then. Your choice, John.” And I could have sworn that I heard a door metaphorically slam shut behind me. 

When he started speaking again his voice was still low but he wasn’t making the effort to hide that we were talking anymore.  
He told me that the men around the table were not business associates per se, even if they were men of power and wealth and of huge importance to Moriarty.

“For different kinds of reasons Moriarty owns these men. Some of them he shares with Mr Magnussen and luckily for the bastards that have both of them breathing down their necks, their interests don’t collide. Magnussen works with information and he uses that information to his advantage, getting more power, influence and favours.”

“Blackmailing you mean?”

“Yes. He’s made that his niche and sometimes that coincides with what Moriarty is dealing with.”

“So everyone in the room is blackmailed or put under pressure for some reason, by these two?”

“You could say that. Moriarty isn’t a blackmailer though, he has other ways of getting people indebted to him, there is much more thought process into it. More refined methods if you ask me.”

“Such as?”

“No, John. That’s not for me to tell. I’ve given you plenty already. Regarding Mr Moriarty it’s better not knowing too much. But it wouldn’t have worked out with you not knowing anything. Now you know that he’s extremely powerful and frankly put, dangerous. Better to have that knowledge delivered like this, than finding out the hard way.”

As he had given up the pretence of disguising our conversation, I felt secure enough to turn my head and cast a glance in Moriarty’s direction.  
The man didn’t look that dangerous and at the same time I could concede that there was something ominous about him. Maybe it was the look in his eyes.  
It seemed a bit unhinged. 

Before he had the chance to catch me looking again, I let my gaze wander, naturally gravitating towards Sherlock.  
To my surprise he was looking at me too and I could feel my heart rate quickening, my mouth going dry. 

Why was he here? 

Suddenly a thought hit me and I turned to Sebastian again.

“Sherlock…er, Mr Holmes I mean, is he also being blackmailed? Is _that_ the reason he is engaged to Magnussen? Is he being forced to?”

Sebastian couldn’t help laughing, a small dry chuckle, dampened by pretending to turn it into a cough.

“No. Hell if I know why he has agreed to marry Magnussen, they’re not exactly hitting off sparks do are they? But no, he isn’t being blackmailed into it. Not that I have heard of at least. Could be that his brother is one of Magnussen’s victims, but on the other hand, the Holmes brothers aren’t known for getting along. I have a hard time imagining Holmes junior doing something like that for the sake of his older brother.”

“Who’s his brother? Is he also someone I should have heard of?”

“No. In his case it would have been highly suspicious if you knew who he was. He’s what I would call an amplified paper pusher, but the boss says he has some say in things that matter. Officially he’s a minor bureaucrat, but apparently he has some feelers within the government. Still a paper pusher in my eyes though.” 

“Right. So it’s only natural that Magnussen should wish to have the upper hand on someone like him. And Moriarty too?”

“Yes but he’s a shrewd one, not so easy to catch doing something compromising. But in my experience everyone has a weak spot. The man sitting with Magnussen’s nose around his neck is definitely his.”

“It’s not a love match then?” I couldn’t help letting a tone of relief slip by.

“Those two? Hardly. Or maybe from Magnussen’s point, he appears quite keen actually. I always thought he was a cold fish, ruthless to a fault, but he seems …. smitten almost, in his own, very downplayed way. Arranged an elaborate engagement party not that long ago, half the town was there to witness it. But Holmes, he’s a cocky one, don’t know what game _he’s_ playing.” 

The more information I was getting, the more complex the picture was becoming. Nothing made any sense.

“Could _that_ be the reason why Moriarty has invited Sherlock here tonight? To use against the brother?” I tried coming up with a suitable clue but Sebastian just shook his head.

“No. When it comes to the boss and Sherlock Holmes things are much more complicated.”

And no matter my continuous questioning Sebastian refused to reveal more about the subject. Dessert arrived soon after and created a natural pause in our conversation.

Shortly after the dessert, the party moved back to the living room. 

While indulging in a glass of Sherry I took the advantage of approaching Sherlock who stood alone by the window, staring out into the darkness.  
The bodyguard was standing close by, but not close enough to intrude and he could probably not hear us if he tried to eavesdrop. 

I frantically ransacked my brain for an opening line but came up empty-handed.  
Normally I seldom felt nervous about talking to strangers, my line of work had broken down that barrier a long time ago and I was usually the one in command of a situation, both privately and in work situations. But something about him made me tongue-tied.  
Just before it was beginning to become awkward, he turned my way and spoke instead.

“So, being Moriarty’s doctor. What’s that like? Seen a lot of injuries yet?”

“No. I just started last week.”

“Oh, give it some time then. It will come.”

He gave me small lopsided smirk and I couldn’t help smiling back. It was difficult to ascertain if he was teasing or was just feeling awkward socialising. Not that I was being any better. I tried the same cocky approach as him by asking:

“Well acquainted with how working for Moriarty is, are you?”

That comment earned me a raised eyebrow. 

“Well enough to know that you’ll never be bored.”

“Good to know.”

He hummed and turned his gaze back to look out the window.  
Not wanting to let the conversation die I continued talking.

“Known him long, our host?”

“Not really. I wouldn’t say I know him. I know _of_ him.”

“But he invited you here tonight. Or was that as companion to Mr Magnussen?”

He stiffened at the name but then just snorted.

“No. It’s probably the other way around actually.”

Before I could ask him what he meant we were interrupted.

“Acquainting yourselves with each other?”

I turned around and was faced with Moriarty standing there. His voice was of a joyous tone, but his face showed no mirth and his eyes looked at me with coolness in them.  
In a mimic of a theatre whisper he leaned towards me.

“I know he’s the looker in the room and believe me, I get it, Dr Watson. I really do. But be a dear and put that tongue back in your mouth now, please.”

I frowned and opened my mouth to reply, feeling affronted by his comment, but Sherlock interrupted by giving away a histrionic sigh, turning around to face Moriarty, rolling his eyes while doing so.

“Chewing the scenery, again? Must every little thing become some sort of scene with you? It’s tiresome.”

I inhaled sharply. Even if I didn’t really know him, I knew enough to sense that Moriarty was not a man well-disposed to snark. But to my huge surprise the man burst out in a high-pitched cackle instead of looking offended.

“Ooh, Sherlock, you really do know how to grab a situation by the balls, don’t you? That tedious dinner must have eaten you up inside. The _food_ , the _people_. I would offer my apologies if I hadn’t enjoyed it so much.”

I couldn’t help feeling confused now. What the hell was going on?

“Well, as you have wasted a substantial amount of time already, why not get things started? This is beginning to bore me.”

“Sometimes we have a very different definition of being bored, Sherlock dear. I’m highly amused at the moment actually. But you’re right. Enough of the theatrics now. Let’s save that for another time.”

He turned around to face Magnussen who was sitting in the sofa, nursing a glass of whiskey, looking at us with a calculating face. I got the feeling that he was scrutinizing me in particular.  
Everyone else in the room had quieted down, looking in our direction.

“Time to get down to business, folks!”

With that Moriarty headed for the door, marching out of the room. 

Magnussen slowly rose from where he was sitting and extended his hand to Sherlock who passed me to join him.

Magnussen cast me a cold look over the rim of his glasses while lifting Sherlock’s hand to his mouth, demonstratively kissing it softly. Hips lips looked moist and sent a shiver down my spine, but Sherlock didn’t move a muscle, just patiently tolerated it and when Magnussen finally released his grip, they both followed Moriarty out of the room, accompanied by the bodyguard.

Immediately after, the rest of the room started moving, heading for the door.  
I walked over to Sebastian who was among the last to leave.

“What’s happening? Where’s everyone going?”

"The evening’s over.”

“But where did Magnussen and Moriarty go? And Holmes?”

“For them it has just begun. Magnussen and Moriarty have business to talk through. The courting phase is over, time to negotiate. But that’s no business for the rest of us. Time to go to bed, Doctor.”

“But wait…”

“No. I have to go as well. You have done your part tonight. Try getting some sleep.”

He turned around, signalled a man standing outside the door to approach, nodded my way and then strode off.

“Doctor Watson. I’m to escort you to your room.”

I could see the other men disappearing out the main door, no one looking back, just determinedly heading out of the house.  
I turned to the man who was trying to get my attention and couldn’t help snarling at him that I could very well find my own way back.

As I lay down in my bed it suddenly hit me. The reason why I had been asked to join the dinner party.  
It had been a test. A test to see if I was willing to continue working for Moriarty.  
Working for him in the capacity he was in need of obviously meant getting involved all the way.  
No more skulking about in the peripheral.  
If I was to be what he wanted, I had to be more knowledgeable and now I was. At least to some degree. 

I tried sensing if I felt any regrets about my decision to get more implicated in the business of my employer and found myself feeling a bit ambiguous about it, but not nearly as much as I would have thought.  
Maybe I wasn’t as honourable as I always had imagined after all. Or maybe my curiosity, and lets face it, lust after a particular Sherlock Holmes had gotten the best of me.

It didn’t really matter anymore. I was an employee of Moriarty’s now, in every sense of the way.


	6. Change in communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is forced to tell John about an incident from last night.

The next day I woke up much later than usual and expecting it to be like all the other days, fairly quiet and empty, but to my surprise the house was buzzing with people when I came out to get some breakfast.  
On my first day, breakfast had been served in my room, but it had felt too formal and after that I had made a habit of venturing down to the kitchen instead.

This particular morning I met people in the stairs, as well as in the kitchen, and there was an activity to the place that I hadn’t seen before.  
I was temped to go looking for Sebastian and see if he could shed some light on what was going on but decided to play it cool and seek out my patient instead. If there was something important going on in the house, chances were that Sebastian might be busy with that and not likely wishing to be disturbed. I could always find out later.

To my huge astonishment the patient was gone when I went into the room I had left him in yesterday.  
Not only that, the room looked like no one had ever been in it.

I went out again to go find one of the regular members of the staff to ask what had happened, when I accidentally caught sight of Mr Magnussen.  
He was headed for Moriarty’s office and didn’t see me. 

I noticed that he looked nothing like he had the night before. His hair was dishevelled, as if he had drawn his hands trough it, and the expression on his face was distressed. Gone was the calm superior look I remembered and even his clothes looked a bit rumpled, tie askew round his neck.

I was just about to greet him when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder, stopping me from approaching.  
Startled I turned around. 

Behind me Sebastian was standing, with his hand grabbing my shoulder.

He looked the same as he always did. Calm and collected, but his eyes had a stern glint in them.

“Leave it,” he hissed.

I tried sounding casual to ease the tension that for some reason crept up my spine when I met his gaze and shrugged off his hand.

“He looks a bit worn. Stayed the night, did he?”

An impulse hit me that if Magnussen had stayed, maybe Sherlock was around here somewhere too.

“No. He’s under some pressure, that’s all. It’s been a rough morning.”

I decided to put an end to the ambiguity straight away.  
This habit of dropping small nibbles of information but leaving out the juicier bits was beginning to annoy me.  
Either he would have to come straight forward or he could drop the confidentiality act.  
Because I was beginning to see it now, every piece I was given had a reason behind it.  
I could still feel the sting of being played last night, reeled in to get more implicated in the business of my employer and even if I had chosen it myself in the end, that method of dangling information in front of my nose, knowing very well that I would have difficulty declining more knowledge when being offered, it was manipulating and I didn’t like it. 

“Look. Either you start giving me the whole story or you can quit whispering nonsense in my ear. I already agreed to more information, I’m implicated by continuing to work here while knowing that my boss is a crook of some sort. So spit it out or stop hinting at things!”

He gave me a surprised look, raising his eye-brows before narrowing his eyes a bit.

“Toughening up are you? I’ve waited for that. I can see now why you chose to do what you did for so many years. Working in areas struck by crisis thickens your skin, trust me I know. I did a stint in the Ukraine that…”

“No,” I interrupted, puttng my hand up to stop any rambling side-track he might be trying on me” That has nothing to do with it. Besides, I a am doctor, nothing else. And I’m tired of being led around blindsided, being kept in the dark. I don’t have to like what Moriarty does for a living, the little I know about it, but I’m still here aren’t I? So stop giving me the child-friendly version of everything.”

“Fine. What is it that you think you need to know to be able to work here? _As a doctor, mind you._ You’re not required to do _anything_ else.”

“During that first interview he asked me if I had shot someone. That indicates…”

“Nothing. It indicates nothing. It was just his way of pushing a button to see what happens. You met the man, you have an inkling of what he’s like. That question is pretty much standard procedure as far as he’s concerned. When I met him the first time he asked me if I liked it up the butt or in the mouth. Doesn’t mean I’m a sex worker or looking to fuck my boss, does it?.”

I sighed. It felt like every way I tried looking at the situation it kept changing its appearance.  
Like one of those Rubiks cubes I had when I was a kid. 

“Well, thank you for putting _that_ picture in my head,” I muttered.

Sebastian smiled his loop-sided smile.

“You’ll be alright, Doctor. Stop worrying so much. Besides, you fared well in your answers during the interview, he was very pleased afterwards”

“I’m not worried!” I protested.

“Well, you’re meddling, that’s for sure.”

“I’m just wondering, that’s all. What’s with all the people for example? The place is positively swamped today.”

“You’re not giving up, are you?” He sighed but then nodded, as if making a decision. “Very well. Come with me, I’ll need to get something in the car. We can talk during the walk there.”

 

“Look. I like you,” he said as we got out of earshot from anyone in the house. “You might be the only sensible man in the house at the moment. A bit too nosey for your own good though. But fine, I get it. I would be wondering too. Considering the circumstances.”

He headed off in the direction of a garage, secluded from the house. I hadn’t been there before, didn’t even know of its existence and found myself having difficulty keeping up with his pace.  
The last couple of days the leg hadn’t been bothering me that much, but I wasn’t willing to admit that my limp was a figment of my imagination, so I kept using my cane nonetheless, which naturally slowed med down. When he reached the building he waited for me to catch up and continued talking.

“There’s been an incident. That’s why everyone is here. Or rather, they don’t all belong to us, that’s why it feels so crowded. “

“Ok. What kind of incident? And who are they?”

“Besides our own people, they belong to Mr Magnussen. And believe it or not…MI5.”

“What? _The Security Service?!_ Why? Is it some sort of search?”

“Sort of. But not the kind you’re thinking of.”

He held a key card to open the door to the garage, stepping inside a hangarlike space with several cars lined up on display.  
Quickly he moved over to the far side, towards the more elegant cars in the collection. The prized items, as opposed to the more non-descript ones closest to the door we had entered. 

I stayed behind, waiting for him to retrieve whatever it was that he needed to get. I saw him opening up a sleek black Bugatti, reminiscent of something Batman would drive. Or more likely Bruce Wayne.

As he came walking back to me, he had a gun in his hand. When he saw my surprised face he reassured me.

“Don’t worry. Its not going to be a show down or anything. This is purely for appearance, they will expect its presence.”

“Who?”

“MI5.”

We stepped out of the garage again and began walking back to the house.

“And again, why are they here? Are you in trouble? Am _I_? Why in God’s name are _they_ searching the house?”

“Like I said, there was an incident last night. After you had gone to bed. That’s why Magnussen is looking so "worn" as you put it.”

He hesitated but I wasn’t about to give him a chance to change his mind about telling me now. If MI5 was involved something serious must have happened.  
Was it even worse than I a had imagined it earlier?  
Were there bombs involved? Terrorist plans? IRA perhaps? Moriarty was decidedly Irish after all.  
Had the non-English speaking man with the stab wound been a foreign threat perhaps? A threat that I had helped, however unknowingly.

That thought sent a chill down my spine, how could I have been so blind? Of course these people were no ordinary criminals!  
Too grand a house for that. The cars, the fancy suits, guards outside the gates, not to mention those patrolling the grounds. This was something major! 

I needed to know what I was facing back at the house. But I needn’t have worried about him not telling me, he continued talking on his own accord. 

“It’s about Magnussen’s fiancé. He’s gone missing.”


	7. The vanishing man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is missing and John tries to find out what's happened. But is Sebastian to be trusted?

“What do you mean gone missing?” I exclaimed.

“That’s what everyone here is trying to find out. He’s just vanished.”

Sherlock vanished? I felt a sudden sense of dread compressing me from the inside. What did that mean exactly? Vanished how? By force? What if he had been killed for some reason, or at least injured? The thought was making my stomach clench anxiously. 

And suddenly I felt it. The guilty conscience I had been lacking yesterday.  
What was my life becoming? Involved with criminals, patching up stabbed people in the middle of the night and people gone missing?  
Were there to be dead people involved now? And Sherlock of all people!  
An image of lifeless eyes in a deadly pale face came to mind, an image I had suffered through many nights working with the patients I wasn’t able to save over the years. 

But this was different. This wasn’t a war casualty. If he had been killed it had been intentional.  
What had I gotten myself mixed up in? 

Sebastian looked at me and then grabbed me by the shoulders as if sensing that I was beginning to panic.

“Relax! Just because he’s missing doesn’t mean he’s harmed. Although I hate to admit it, he's more than capable of taking care of himself and right now, everyone is looking for him. Magnussen has lots of money and resources and Mycroft Holmes, the brother, he has that as well. MI5 is here on account of him.”

“But why are they _here_? What happened last night? If they are searching this place, surely that indicates something bad happened here? Last time I saw him he had a very acerbic tone with Moriarty. Maybe...”

Impatiently Sebastian interrupted my rambling.

“The house has nothing to do with it, it’s just happens to be the last place where he was seen. Besides, he wouldn’t be killed for being snarky. Geez, if that was the case someone would have done it ages ago, never met a more arrogant and snotty bastard. Well, there is the brother of course… “

I didn’t know if I believed him and that was the first time I didn’t really trust what Sebastian was saying.  
He had been evasive before, dodged questions or not given me the whole story, but I had never felt that he had told me an outright lie. Now I wasn’t sure what to believe. Something about his flippancy and the way he tried to wave away my worry by joking, it wasn’t sitting well with me.

“What exactly happened last night?”

He shrugged.

“I wasn’t there the whole time, just in the beginning. Same as Holmes. He was not a part of the negotiating phase, wasn’t allowed to be in the same room in fact. Moriarty and Magnussen had their meeting while Holmes was left waiting in the room next door. I kept him company for a short while but then I had other things to attend to, so the rest is just what I have been told by others. The meeting got prolonged and the bodyguard offered to take Holmes home. They left around midnight in Magnussen’s car and Magnussen was to be taken home in one of our cars when finished here. He left around an hour later and I drove him myself. According to him he went straight to bed upon arrival.”

“Do they live together?”

“No. Holmes has his own flat in London. Magnussen lives in a house like this called Appledore, outside of town. But not wanting to make that long trip home he went to a suite he has in the city and spent the night there. It wasn’t until the morning, when he drove past Holmes flat on Baker Street to check on him that he realised his fiancé was missing. “

“Check on him? That sounds a bit controlling?”

“Well, what do you expect? An older man engaged to someone looking like Holmes? No wonder he's falling apart at the seams at the moment.”

He sniggered and if the situation hadn’t felt so serious I might have joined in, but as it was, I had trouble founding the humour in a man gone missing during these circumstances. Anything relating to Moriarty had a way of turning a situation even more sinister. But had Sherlock really disappeared?

“Couldn’t he just have gone out? Gone to work? Not being at home isn’t the same as go missing. It’s not even been 24 hours.”

“Magnussen talked to the landlady, he never showed up last night. CCTV have no recordings of him arriving at Baker Street either. And then there is the very suspicious fact that the bodyguard is missing too.”

That immediately put the situation in an even more worrying light.

“Can there have been an accident?” I tried, grabbing for a more normal explanation to his absence.

“Magnussen thought so too at first, but he has a tracker in his car and managed to locate it to a grove twenty minutes from here, burnt out and trashed. No sign of either passenger or driver in it. “

“Oh God…”

I could feel the colour draining from my face. Whatever this was, it didn’t look good.

“The first thing Magnussen did was to contact the brother, who in turn immediately ordered MI5 to help out with the situation.”

“But that’s ludicrous! Who can even _do_ that?”

“You haven’t met the Mycroft Holmes, but if you ever do, calling MI5 to do his bidding instead of just ringing in a missing person’s report to Scotland Yard, that is just in line with how that man works. Not to mention Magnussen of course. These are men who expects everything to be done according to their will. It’s what comes with wealth, power and privilege.”

While coming to terms with what he had just told me another thought crossed my mind.

“Moriarty can’t have been happy with MI5 barging in to his house, whatever the reason.”

Sebastian made a small shrug.

“They insisted on starting their investigation here, since this was the place where he was last seen. They are also working the scene of the burnt-out car. Moriarty isn’t particularly annoyed by the intrusion, he willingly lets them do their thing and we are assisting them as well as we can, but obviously trying not to flaunt any other activity that might lead them start looking too closely. Besides, Mycroft Holmes knows who we are, he doesn’t expect there to be anything incriminating to be found. We have all been around this block several times before. The focus now is to find the two missing persons. “

I could help but snort at the mention of _two_ missing persons.

“The bodyguard must obviously be part of it.”

“Who’s to say? He was handpicked by Magnussen himself a long time ago, this is the only time he was assigned to care for Holmes. Seems very random to go rogue on your very first opportunity.”

“Maybe," I concluded, but not fully convinced. "By the way, does this have anything to do with my patient being missing this morning?”

Sebastian looked at me evenly.

“Possibly.”

“Where is he?”

“None of your concern.”

“I’m his doctor!”

“He’ll live. Our major concern at the moment is clearing up this situation so they can move on with their search somewhere else. And finding Holmes of course. It’s not good for business, this. Magnussen is very shaken and worried. Didn’t really think he had it in him to care for someone like that. Always came off as a cold one. Anyway, he’s of no use to us like this, hopefully Holmes will be found unharmed soon so thing can get back to normal.”

I studied him while he talked, taking in his calm demeanour. 

“You don’t seem very faced by all of this. What do you think has happened?”

“Beats me. Looks like a classic kidnapping case though. But no use speculating until we know more. Besides, it’s not really any of our concern. Bad for Magnussen, but that’s what you get when you piss people off by blackmailing them and then go and get yourself a pretty little pressure point. Granted, this could be aimed at Mycroft Holmes, but the same rule applies. Don’t flaunt your weakness.”

I was surprised by his callousness, even if I got the feeling that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a favourite of his. The comment last night about “Prince Grumpy” had highlighted that clue, but this cold attitude towards a possible kidnapping was shocking and I was beginning to think that I might have misjudged Sebastian Moran. What I had liked about him in the beginning, his calm, no-nonsense persona had a negative side to it too.  
Being elusive and straight-out uncaring about another human being's suffering was something I found offensive.  
Whatever I might think about Magnussen I could still feel his anguish. Had Sherlock been my fiancé I would have felt heartbroken and would probably have moved heaven and earth trying to find him.

We were back at the house now and Sebastian made his excuses as we stepped inside, needing to go find Moriarty.  
As we departed, Magnussen was on his way down the stairs, accompanied by another man. They walked with heavy solemn steps and I wondered if the other man might be the older brother.  
He didn’t look like Sherlock though, not even by a long shot.  
Much heavier, thinning hair, different colouring and features. No cheekbones or full lips and very different type of eyes too. A weak chin and a somewhat large nose were the only two distinctions in his appearance. 

He had a solidity to him, radiating self-importance but at the same time he looked just like any dusty civil servant in a boring three-piece suit.  
It was probably expensive in reality, but he had a way of downplaying his appearance, unlike Moriarty who flaunted his excess in everyone’s face. This man most likely hated being compared to his younger, more dramatic-looking brother, preferring working in the shadows.  
If he was playing at officially being a minor bureaucrat while running things from behind the scenes it wouldn’t do to stick out too much.

They talked in low voices and I made myself step aside a bit from their line of sight so as not appear to be intruding or eavesdropping . There were other people occupying the area so at least it didn’t seem suspicious that I was loitering about. 

I could hear the man I thought to be Mycroft Holmes talking to Magnussen.

“We have done what we can here, we need to focus on other areas before the trail grows cold. You know that there are many different reasons for his absence and…”

The rest was filtered out by the sound of steps coming from my right, walking quickly towards the two men.  
It was most likely MI5. 

They addressed Magnussen in low voices, inaudible to me where I was standing but I got a feeling that they were about to wrap up the search. 

“Someone talk to that doctor before you leave,” I heard Magnussen say and I froze.  
The logical part of my brain understood that it was just part of procedure but still, why would I have anything to do with this? 

Then I remembered the look he had given me last night, eyes on me while kissing Sherlock's hand. He was probably one of those possessive types of men, the “don’t look at my property”-type. 

Well, I had nothing to hide. _Not yet,_ my subconscious helpfully quipped, while I stepped forward and made myself visible. 

Magnussen and the other man continued out the door while the investigators soon caught sigh of me and approached.

“Doctor John Watson?”

I nodded.

“Come with us, please. We have some questions to ask. Mind if we use your office while doing that?”

“No,” I heard myself say as I followed them up the stairs to the treatment room.


	8. Fade into darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The previous events are beginning to take their toll on John's psyche and he begins to find it difficult to tell reality and imagination apart.

It took longer than I had expected to be questioned about a thing I knew nothing about.  
Naturally they asked about my reason for being here and it made me a bit nervous that I was going to be giving away something I wasn’t supposed to talk about, but on the other hand, by leaving out the treatment of the stabbed man the other night I had nothing to inform them of.

“Sounds like a boring job, just sitting here waiting for someone to need your services,” one of the agents stated but I just shrugged and said it was a cushy job and good pay so I couldn’t really complain.

“Doesn’t seem like the sickly type of man, Mr Moriarty? What does he even need a live-in doctor for? Pretty large treatment facility this, considering that it’s not being used.”

“Might be a status type of thing,” I offered. 

I knew that they knew what type of man Moriarty was, but I wasn’t letting them know that I also knew.  
If I just played clueless about my employer they might not push the subject further. The fact that I had been abroad until recently worked well in my favour, it was fully reasonable that I didn’t know anything.

“What is your opinion about Mr Holmes behaviour during last night? Did something strike you as strange? From him or anyone else at the party?”

I shook my head. I told them that it had basically been a standard dining event, that I had not been seated near the head of the table where Magnussen, Holmes and Moriarty had been sitting, I had hardly spoken to any of the guests at all. 

“Mr Magnussen said that we should speak with you. We were going to do that anyway, but he made the request rather specifically. Why is that do you think?”

I thought about his cold eyes looking at me while pressing his lips to the skin of his fiancé's hand. It was definitely the look of someone trying to intimidate, but at the same time it felt childish if he started to point his finger in my direction solely because I had spoken with Sherlock. 

Maybe it was the fact that I had made Sherlock smile? According to Sebastian Sherlock’s preferable mood was otherwise constant arrogance. Did Magnussen ever make Sherlock smile? It seemed highly doubtful. 

Not sharing those thoughts with the men questioning me, I continued my ignorance act instead.

“I couldn’t possibly tell you. You’ll have to ask him. I didn’t exchange any words with Mr Magnussen last night and we have never met before, so why he would make that request is beyond me. As I said earlier, I spoke very little with Mr Holmes as well, only a few sentences.”

The agents exchanged looks before turning to me again.

“And what did you two talk about?”

“Nothing of importance really. Just chatting.”

One of the agents snorted.

“Sherlock Holmes is not known to be the chatting type. It must have been about something.”

“He just asked me what I thought about working for Mr Moriarty. Just normal stuff like that really.”

They exchanged looks between them again. Obviously they knew something I didn’t. But beyond that there wasn’t more for me to say and eventually they let me go.

Afterwards I felt tired and headed up to my room to rest.  
I stayed there for the remainder of the day, ate my dinner alone and went to bed early. I was beginning to feel like this place might not be the right thing for me after all and decided that I should start looking for a new job and a place to live as soon as possible. The thought that it might not be as simple as just leaving was something I chose not to dwell on at the moment.

*

That night I woke up to a strange feeling that something hade woken me up. The room was dark and there were no sounds that could have woken me up, but still I had the feeling that something had disturbed my sleep.  
I looked at my alarm clock. 

02:45. 

Not morning yet but soon. 

I walked over to the window to take a peek outside. Might it have been something in the garden below? But no, it lay there dark in the shadows, no one in sight. Not even the guards I new where out there somewhere. 

I rubbed my eyes, already deciding to go back to sleep, when my eyes briefly fell on the small gap beneath my door.  
I wasn’t sure because the room was dusky and I was still muddled from being woken up abruptly for no apparent reason, but I though that I saw a shadow moving outside the door. 

I stared at the gap for a second to see if it reappeared, but it didn’t, so I stepped over to the door and put my ear to it, trying to listen.  
When no sound came through from the other side of the door I slowly opened it, careful not to give myself away to anyone standing there.  
But of course, there was no one there.  
There was just empty darkness, with nothing in sight that could have created any kind of shadow. This was obviously nothing but my imagination playing tricks on me.

Sighing I closed the door and patted over to my bed, slipping under the duvet again.  
Sleep soon came creeping back, pulling me under with its limbs. But just as I was about to succumb to the allure of slumber once again a thought pierced through my mind, waking me up all over again. 

If it was dark outside, how could there have been a shadow? It would have needed some sort of light source to be visible. 

_There never was a shadow, you idiot. You’re imagining things or finally letting this place get the better of you_ , my brain scoffed, but my subconscious thought differently. 

I _had_ seen something, however fleeting. 

Reluctantly I rose from the bed again, went over to the door and opened it. 

Still no one there, but this time I stepped out a little further and went all the way over to the top of the stairs and looked down. 

The house was asleep as far as I could see, shrouded in darkness and silence.  
Perhaps everyone had left again.  
I had no idea since I had spent the afternoon and evening in my own room. 

Looking down the stairs, out into the darkness, it was difficult to wrap my head around the fact that the boss of a criminal network (probably) was sleeping somewhere down there.  
Did he sleep in a soft t-shirt and boxers like me or did he have one of those expensive designer pyjamas in silk or something? I frankly couldn’t picture him in any of the options, sleeping, with sleep-tousled hair, snoring. It humanised him too much.  
I couldn’t see him without that intense look in his eye, always just slightly unbalanced. I wondered how the agents had done when questioning him. Probably not that well. 

I thought about Sebastian telling me about Moriarty asking him if he liked it up the butt or in the mouth and then his questions to me whether I had killed someone. The man clearly had some disturbing ideas of how to keep up a conversation, a thought which led me to further recollections, more specifically about his verbal exchange with Sherlock last night.  
Sherlock had been just as rude as Moriarty, if not more, rolling his eyes and sighing. Just how well did these two know each other in order to have that type of talk?

Seeing no point in dwelling on that, I decided that it must have been my imagination after all, playing tricks on me regarding the shadow and I returned to my room, going back to bed, soon falling asleep once more.

The next day I sat down with my computer, trying to look for job ads. I knew, from experience, that you should go and register yourself at a job centre in order to receive a jobseeker’s allowance while unemployed, but with my initial porly made effort at visiting one of those still fresh in my memory, I decided to try another way first, so I typed in doctor + jobs on Google and went from there.  
It didn’t amount to much regarding actual job offerings but I spent a couple of hours reading other interesting stuff I found online and after lunch I decided to go outside to get some air. 

Things were back to normal regarding the house. I saw the gardener trimming some rose bushes and two men guarding the premises, but other than that I was alone again. 

I sat down on a bench contemplating the events of the previous couple of days.  
I had heard no news about Sherlock, probably because I hadn’t spoken to anyone, and I felt a surge of worry whenever I thought about him.  
The strange thing about being in this house was that things quickly lost their relevance. Although I had attended a dinner party where one of the guests was now missing, most likely kidnapped if Sebastian was to be believed, a guest I had felt an instant attraction to and actually lusted after in a way that was almost cringeworthy to think about afterwards, everything faded into a dreamlike state, blurring the lines of reality, making everything slipping from memory very quickly. It was as if it had all just been a very strange dream, beginning to fade into darkness.

A small drizzle started, clouds gathering over my head, but I remained seated for a little while longer, feeling a huge reluctance returning to the house and my lonely existence. My loneliness was beginning to chip away at my mood once again, like it had before, when returning to England from abroad  
.  
I knew there where antidepressants available among all the other thing in my treatment room, but just like before I was reluctant to take the actual step of taking them. Doing that would be to actually confess that I was depressed and I didn’t know if I was ready to take that step yet. Things had been looking a bit brighter for a short moment, maybe I could turn things around without having to succumb first?

I lifted my head, letting my eyes roam aimlessly over my surroundings. This was actually a rather beautiful place after all, despite all the events that had taken place here. The garden was thriving with roses and rhododendron, with a little pond further along and the tranquillity of the place was in stark contrast to its owner and his quirky personality. 

Suddenly I froze and my eyes widened in chock. My heart began to pound with increasing rate and I inhaled sharply.  
Because in one of the windows on the top floor of the house I saw someone looking down at me.  
A pale thin face with dark curly hair. 

It was Sherlock.


	9. Treasure hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly is it that John believes he has seen and what is Moriarty's take on it?

I just stared for a whole second, in total shock.  
Then I started running towards the house. 

I threw the entrance door open and started pounding up the stairs. 

It had been a window on my own floor, I was sure of it.  
But how was this possible? 

As I reached the first floor and was about to continue up the next set of stairs, I ran straight into Sebastian who was on his way down. The papers he was holding went flying all over the place and I stumbled as my body connected with his solid, much taller form. 

“Whoa! What’s going on, Doctor? What’s the rush?” 

My heart pounded inside my chest as I was trying to catch my breath.

“I saw him…,” I panted, trying to slow down my heavy breathing. I hadn’t run like this for at least six months. In my rush I had forgotten my cane behind in the garden I noticed now. Surprisingly I had managed well without it. 

“Who?” Sebastian furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Sherl…” I took a huge mouthful of air and made an effort to calm down enough to make myself understood.  
At first he just looked at me, confusion written all over his face, but then suddenly realisation hit him.

“Sherlock? You saw Sherlock?”

“Yes…he’s here! I saw him. Up there! Through a window!”

I pointed up the stairs and I must have looked insane, but I didn’t care.  
Sebastian was still looking at me, tilting his head slightly to the side, when a door behind him opened and Moriarty stepped out.

“What’s the bleeding noise out here? It sounds like someone set fire to a yapping Yorkie.”

He halted when noticing me.

“Oh, Dr Watson. Something the matter?”

“Don’t worry about it, I can handle it, boss,” Sebastian tried but apparently Moriarty wasn’t having it, dismissing him with a handwave. He gave the papers covering the floor a meaningful look.

“I can see that. Sebastian, be a pet and shut up, I’m addressing Dr Watson now. Scuttle along with those papers instead.”

He turned his eyes towards me.

“Mind telling me what all this commotion is about?”

Behind him Sebastian stubbornly refused to move for some reason, instead he just watched us, like watching something unravelling before his eyes.  
And seeing that, it struck me.  
In my panic I hadn’t thought at all about the circumstances of what I had seen, why Sherlock was here. I had simply reacted in shock and started running, the first instinct being relief at seeing him alive, the second being to reach him as quickly as possible.  
Now stopped in my heedless run, logic was catching up with me and I realised that that there could be a reason for seeing Sherlock in that window.  
I thought about the guards patrolling the premises, the locked gates and more importantly, the noise I thought I had heard last night.  
And suddenly I wished that I hadn’t said anything. That I had gone up there myself and investigated. 

But too late for regrets now.  
Sebastian knew what I had seen and if I didn’t answer Moriarty, he would probably answer for me.  
I looked at Sebastian who in turn looked at me and Moriarty suddenly burst out in a shrill laugh.

“Ooh, the secrecy! This is just so _precious_! Look at that face, trying to figure out what to say!”

For a split second I had thought that Sebastian might back me up, trying to steer this in another direction, but I could see the change in his demeanour when Moriarty spoke. However much he said he liked me his loyalty to his boss came first.

“Soo, are we going to be standing here all day, looking at you two school boys trying to come up with the technique of putting words into sentences, or are one of you going to spit it out already?”

“He knows,” Sebastian finally said. 

Moriarty leered at him, feigning ignorance.

“Knows what exactly?”

“About our guest.”

_Guest!_ Was that what they called the victim of a kidnapping? Anger flared up in me, but I wasn’t given the opportunity to react before Moriarty took command again.

“Ah, our guest! And what is it that you know about it, Dr Watson?”

Angrily I stepped forward, facing him. 

“I saw Sherlock. Through a window. Up on my floor. “

“Really? So, you’re saying that after all that searching he never even left the house? Despite MI5 being here to investigate? How intriguingly improbable.”

He turned to look at Sebastian again.

“Well, there’s nothing more to it, is there, Sebastian? Better let the doctor show us what it is that he thinks he has found.” 

He sounded borderline mocking and if I hadn’t been so irritated by his way of speaking to me, I would perhaps have started to doubt what I had actually seen.  
I had after all been in a rather questionable mood, tired to boot and on the verge of depression.  
But when prompted, I could be as stubborn as a mule and now I was determined to expose this whole mystery, whatever the results. If I ended up looking like a fool, so be it. I wasn't letting anyone intimidate me into backing down now.  
Why Moriarty seemed to find humour in this whole scenario was suspicious, but on the other hand, the man was nothing if not irrational on a regular basis.  
Maybe he didn’t even see what a threat I would pose, if revealing that he was keeping someone a prisoner in his house?  
Not that it had actually been vocally implied yet, but what other reason for Sherlock's presence here could there be? Even if they called him a _guest_.

In a gesture for me to lead the way we began climbing the rest of the stairs, me up front, followed by Moriarty and lastly Sebastian.  
As we reached the top I stopped to catch my breath and I could hear Moriarty chuckling behind me.

“Seems you’re very capable even without the support wheels of the cane you usually carry with you,” I could hear him say and I fought back the impulse to turn around and clock him straight in the chin.  
Instead I chose to ignore him, stepping up to the two doors on either side of my own room, leading to the library and a guestroom. Naturally figuring that Sherlock would be in the guestroom I stepped forward, expecting to find the door locked, but to my surprise the handle went down easily under my grip and the door silently glided open, revealing the room inside.

It was empty.

Moriarty made a show of stepping past me, taking a good look around the empty room, even making a calling sound.

“Well this is entertaining! An old-fashioned treasure hunt! Only thing missing is the actual treasure, though. But I’m sure you have a plan for that, Doctor Watson?”

Without answering him I left, going over to the other door, leading to the library, yanking it open.  
In the corner of my eye I could see Sebastian watching me but ignoring that, I stepped in.

It was empty as well. 

Stunned I stared at the shelves covering the walls, the tiger rug on the floor and the decisively empty non-occupied space inside.  
What the hell?

This time Moriarty didn’t enter the room, he remained standing outside, grin on his face, showing a row of glistening teeth.  
Behind his back I could see Sebastian. He was looking very unhappy now and I couldn’t understand why. Did he feel sorry for the poor doctor obviously going delusional or was it out of pity for me, having to endure the mocking glee of Moriarty?  
I comforted myself with the thought that I could still clock his boss if needed.  
After all, if Moriarty decided to punish me for this, what was the worse he could do? Fire me?  
This job was already proving to be a failure anyway and after this, accusing my employer of being a kidnapper, I was probably going to be sacked nonetheless. 

As if he could see that thought process in my eyes Sebastian stepped forward.

“Alright. You’ve had your laugh, boss. But this kind of diminishes the reason why hired the bloke in the first place, if you keep playing him like this. Might make him less amenable to help you afterwards. Just saying.”

Moriarty sighed theatrically and threw out both arms in an overly disappointed gesture.

“Spoilsport, Sebastian! You’re always so mind-numbingly boring and practical! Don’t even know why I keep you around sometimes.”

Sebastian was smart enough not to answer that and not a full second later something like a shudder went through Moriarty’s body while he composed himself back to normal and calm.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

In confusion I looked at them both, not understanding what they were talking about.  
Since Sebastian seemed the most reasonable out of the pair, I turned to give him a questioning glare. I wasn’t that happy with him either to be perfectly honest but if being forced to choose I much more preferred addressing him.

“What are you two on about?”

Moriarty whined in disappointment.

“Really. This is like playing with half-disabled baboons. At least Sherlock has the good sense to be more of a challenge then you two.”

With that he stepped aside and made a nod to Sebastian, who passed me where I was standing and went over to one of the book shelves.  
He held out his hand and tilted a thick, wine-coloured book with gilded letters on the spine. I frowned, wondering what these two were playing at, when the book shelf suddenly started moving, revealing a door behind it. 

Sebastian backed away.

“Go on,” he said to me, tilting his head in the direction of the revealed space.

Still shocked by there being a hidden door behind a book case, just like in the worst kind of fantasy books or detective stories I used to read as a child, I calmed myself enough to step up to the door, and after a second’s hesitation turn the handle.

In a small room, with the only light coming in being from the window, sitting on a narrow bed, was Sherlock Holmes.

Dressed in what he had been wearing on the evening of the dinner party but otherwise more rumpled, he glared at us from beneath his curls.  
I don’t know what I had expected when finally finding him but the hostility pouring out of his magnificent eyes was not it. He must think I was one of his capturers too of course.  
With the need to rid him of that feeling I stepped forward, ready to explain myself, but before I had the chance to say anything Sebastian pushed me back with a firm nudge while Moriarty stepped forward, past me.

“How is my feisty little kitten today?”  
Sherlock just glared back without answering and I finally started to get suitably rid of my initial shock to start feeling the urge to demand an explanation. 

“What is going on here?!”

Without turning to face me, still standing in front of Sherlock, but not taking any further steps to narrow the space between them, Moriarty answered.

“How did you ever become a doctor if you can’t even work out the most simplistic activities around you? What does this look like?”

I raised my voice now, fed up with his insolent yapping.

“I see a man who everyone, including the MI5, was looking for just yesterday, in this very house, because he had suddenly vanished in the middle of the night. Last seen entering a car that was later found burnt-out in a grove and no one to be seen at the site…”

“Technically they weren’t _searching the house_ …” Sherlock offered quietly, and I turned in his direction with a snap. 

“Excuse me, what was that?”

“I just said, technically they weren’t searching the house. MI5. They were only questioning people.”

I widened my eyes incredulously.  
What was this?  
Was he being flippant with me in the middle of a kidnapping drama?  
_Was_ this even a kidnapping drama? Might he actually be here of his own free will? 

No, I shook my head at that thought. There was no way out of this room except from the outside.  
He was definitely held prisoner.

“Does that make a difference?” I asked curtly. “As I see it, you were missing and people were investigating your disappearance. Does it matter how they were doing it?”

“Sherlock, dear. Remember, his brain is not up to our kind of standard. How is he supposed to keep up with the intricacies of this little game of ours? I could hardly make Sebastian understand when telling him, and he had the advantage of knowing about it in advance.”

Moriarty walked over to Sebastian and made a knocking gesture on his forehead. 

“All brawn but no brain, this one.”

Sebastian remained impassive, letting his boss humiliate him, but I was definitely feeling like I had had enough. 

“Unless you want me to call the police right now, informing them that a person they have been looking for since yesterday morning is in fact sitting on a bed in a secret room behind a book case, in the house of the head of a criminal network, I would suggest someone starts explaining what’s going on right now!”

I could hear a small tired sigh coming from Sherlock, but it was Moriarty who took charge of the situation by replying. 

“It’s so sweet that you think that’s even an option. But fine, let’s get the story-telling out of the way so we can get back to the more important part after. Don’t worry, we’ll use big words so you’ll be able to keep up.”

With that he turned to Sherlock and made an elaborate gesture with his arm in his direction.

“Alright, sexy, showtime!”


	10. Mission failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tells the reason for his presence in Moriarty's house and John finally finds out why he was employed in the first place.

The story I was served was so mind-boggling and incredulous that several times I had to put my hand up to stop the narration, just to be able to wrap my head around what was being said.  
It was mainly Sherlock who spoke, but sometimes Moriarty was more than happy to chip in, if nothing more than to taunt.

The first of many surprises was the fact that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t just the handsome fiancé to illustrious media magnate Charles Magnussen, but actually had an occupation of his own.  
He called himself a consulting detective, and when I frowned my brow, not really understanding what exactly that entailed (it was supposedly _not_ the same as a private detective, I was told in a very sharp tone) he answered in a monotone voice, obviously used to repeating this explanation, that a consulting detective was his own unique invention and one that both private clients as well as the police could use when in need of consulting about various different crimes that they weren’t making progress of on their own. 

“Do you actually get paid to do that?” I asked and Moriarty burst out in one of his characteristically high-pitched cackles, making me wish that I had been doing this alone with just Sherlock. 

__

“ _Yes_. But financial gain isn’t really why I do this. Solving crimes is among the few things that doesn’t make my brain rot out of boredom. I need to do this. Without the work, I would go mad.” 

“It isn’t the only thing keeping you from being bored, Sherlock dear,” Moriarty quipped but Sherlock simply ignored him, picking up the narration where he had left off. 

The second part wasn’t really that surprising, even if the method used made me raise my eyebrows and shake me head.  
By being invited along with Magnussen to the dinner party, Sherlock had concocted a plan so he could investigate the criminal activities of Moriarty on his own home turf, unsupervised. 

“But how? You never left the rest of us during the whole evening,” I objected. 

“Yes, the first part of the evening was definitely a herculean feat. You were there so you know what I’m talking about. All those tedious people, _socialising_. No, it was the second part that was going to get me better access to the Moriarty household.” 

Obviously not being allowed to partake in the meeting Sherlock had been left to care for himself in another room, but that was still not an apt opportunity to go investigating. Sebastian had kept him company for a while, until Sherlock’s laser tongue had managed to make the man flee the room. 

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t have left if I had truly been ordered to keep you under observation,” Sebastian snapped, but Sherlock didn’t even bother glancing in his direction, just kept his focus on me. 

“My plan was not depended on whether or not you stayed with me in that room, as you very well know, Moran.” 

“No, you had a much more intricate scheme, didn’t you?” Moriarty positively beamed, as if proud by that fact and yet again I wondered about what kind of relationship the detective and the criminal really had between them. 

“Too bad you underestimated me, dearie. I’m rather hurt by that actually.” He pretended to pout, and Sherlock sighed again, like he did every time Moriarty interrupted him with his small inputs. 

“Go ahead and do this instead of me then. You’re clearly dying to crow.” 

Moriarty tutted in his direction and while he then addressed me, he kept his eyes on Sherlock the whole time, as if hungrily analysing his reactions. 

“Very well, I’ll take it from here. As it turns out, Sherlock had very cleverly managed to bribe his way into the aid of Magnussen’s bodyguard. Or bribe maybe wasn’t the method you used, we never did talk about how you got him to do you bidding?” 

“Blackmail.” 

My eyes widened in disbelief while Moriarty giggled. Sherlock merely seemed annoyed and looked down at his hands instead of looking at any of us. 

“That’s brilliant! The master blackmailer Magnussen being fooled by his own bodyguard on account of him being blackmailed himself. The irony! A very nice touch, Sherlock, I always knew you had it in you.” 

“So what, you blackmailed the bodyguard? To do what exactly?” I interrupted Moriarty’s ramblings, thoroughly sick of the man and his antics. 

“I started working on him as soon as I found out that he was Charles most frequently used bodyguard and that it was likely that he would be guarding me as well eventually. When sussing out his weakness it was easy planning this with his cooperation. “ 

If I found it odd that he addressed Magnussen by his first name, Charles, I had to concede that it did actually make sense, when thinking about it. They were engaged after all, however reluctantly that thought sat with me. Oblivious to my digression from the story by letting my thoughts wander for a second, Sherlock kept on talking and I snapped back to attention at the sound of his low baritone voice. 

“I had a very thought-out plan, beginning with him asking Charles if he could take me home as I was feeling tired. It was important that the question came from him, so it seemed to be a suggestion made by him and not me. Everything that happened that evening was made to look like he was the instigator of whatever happened afterwards and that I was just an unfortunate victim of his scheme.  
The fact is, I never left the house for more than a few minutes. When we left through the entrance and got in the car, that was the last of us being seen together from anyone watching here. He dropped me off a little further down the road, between the house and the gates, where there was no streetlamp available. It provided me with the perfect excuse to sneak away in the guise of darkness, back to the house, climb in through the window of the room where I had been sitting earlier, conveniently left slightly ajar by myself before exiting and thus helping me get back into the house unseen. Meanwhile the bodyguard left the premises with the car. As the windows were tinted, as per usual in those types of cars, the guards at the gates had no way of knowing that I wasn’t in it. Not that they would have bothered that much with a car leaving anyway, much trickier getting in than getting out of these types of places.” 

“Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it.” Moriarty objected but not offering any further explanation. The subtext was clear enough though. 

“So, let me guess. The bodyguard drove to the grove where the car was found, trashed it and put it on fire, making it appear as if you had been attacked?” I said, still trying to keep Moriarty’s interruptions from taking focus of the actual telling of events. They served no further purpose than to hammer in the fact that we all, more or less, were in his hands now. Sherlock thankfully followed my line of thinking and answered my question instead of rising to Moriarty’s insinuations. 

“Yes. We had picked a place were Charles wouldn’t pass on his way home, as we had no way of knowing how long he was going to stay in his meeting. As the area around the car was singed by the fire as well, it would make it more difficult for investigators to trace any footsteps. The bodyguard was picked up by another car up the road and left. For anyone investigating this, it would look like I had been kidnapped.” 

“Yes, very clever. And very elaborate considering the fact the police were never going to get involved in this.” 

It was Moriarty interrupting again but this time his words made me turn in his direction, confusion in my features. He had actually broken his eye contact with Sherlock now and turned to face me, clearly deciding this bit would be better explained by himself. 

__“However cleaver dear Sherlock thought he had been, he hadn’t counted on us being one step ahead of him. You see, Doctor Watson, once corrupted, a person can always be coerced into changing teams yet again. That bodyguard is indeed on the loose, thanks to you, Sherlock, but he is spending that freedom in a much warmer climate than this country can offer, far away from here, thanks to _me_.” __

____

“Resulting in?” I cut in. 

“Us knowing exactly what Sherlock was planning. The funny part is that by his own doing no one is going to look for him now that he’s really missing. Mind telling the doctor why, Sweetie? ” 

Sherlock glared at Moriarty, beginning to lose his composure now because of the taunting tone in the voice of his captor. He firmly kept his mouth shut, so this was clearly a part he wasn’t too happy to talk about. 

“Alright, have it your way. I’ll happily fill in the gaps.” Moriarty offered. 

He moved, as if entering a stage, clearly enjoying the dramatics and then swirled so as to face all three of us.  
Sebastian, who had remained mainly quiet, except for his exchange with Sherlock about being chased away by the detective’s acerbic tone, had glued a neutral look on his face, displaying no emotions, so it was difficult to see what he thought of his boss’s strutting and Sherlock’s defeat. Considering how loyal as he was to his employer he probably was on his side, even in this, but at least he didn’t gloat like Moriarty. It was even possible that he thought it was too much of a spectacle going on, if I had read the man correctly. But not wanting to risk angering his boss, he stoically remained unfaced, outwardly at least. 

“Our favourite detective likes things to be clever. I applaud that, I do. But sometimes, in his effort to be the smartest person in the room, he goes overboard and complicates a perfectly satisfactory plan by adding details just to feed his own ego. There are many such details in this particular operation, but perhaps the biggest one is the involvement of his brother. You see, Doctor Watson, as Sebastian so kindly informed you, Mycroft Holmes is a man with much more power than his stuffy appearance may convey. By involving him, Sherlock was assured that Scotland Yard or any other police force would not be involved in the search for him. Instead, for the sake of Magnussen, who of course, ironically I may add, is the only bastard in this whole scenario who doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on and actually believes his fancy boyfriend has been kidnapped, Mycroft gathers a group of his most trusted MI5 bunch to do a so called investigation of both this place and the scene of the car. If they at the same time manage to gather any clues about any other type of activity of the incriminating sort going on here, that’s an added bonus, but not really something anyone is expecting. Had we not been prepared, who knows, but as it was, we were ready for some sort of attack happening, even if the bodyguard didn’t know every little measly detail. It speaks volumes of their acting abilities that they made it look like a proper investigation without doing anything but, fooling Magnussen right under his watching eyes. They of course couldn’t risk exposing Sherlock, hiding away somewhere in the house, could they? It speaks even more volumes of the power Mycroft Holmes has if he can get a whole group of government employed agents to put on this charade for the sake of a scheme designed by his little brother. You really are everything to that man, aren’t you Sherlock?” 

Sherlock outrighted refused looking at the man now and I could see something twitching beneath Moriarty’s eye in dismay. He probably wasn’t used to being ignored like this. But for now it seemed like he was letting it slip by, eager to wrap this up. 

“So, conclusion: Mycroft Holmes believes that his brother is investigating away here, for how long, who knows? He probably has a way of placating Magnussen, that part hasn’t been revealed by our dear prisoner yet. Therefore, no one is coming for him now. Not in a while at least. And when they finally do catch on, it will be too late.” 

The silence in the room as we all contemplated his words stretched out, making for a contrast to the heap of monologue that had just been delivered. My head was positively spinning by everything I had just been told and I couldn’t ever begin to understand what all of this meant for me and my situation.  
Did _I_ have a part in this plan of his? Had it been intentional for me to know this or had they been forced to reveal the situation because I had seen Sherlock in 

No, it didn’t make any sense.   
If they had wanted to keep him completely hidden, they would have covered the window, making it impossible for him to look through it.  
So in that case, they didn’t care if he was visible to anyone in the house or not.  
And truly, why would they care? 

No one here was going to be able to help anyway. Not me, not anyone. And the people who could, they had no idea that Sherlock needed help to begin with. 

“The irony of this whole situation is that the place where Sherlock was initially going to be hiding in, namely the attic, has it’s entrance just in front of your door, Doctor Watson. Secret trap door with a ladder in the ceiling, only to be reached with the help of a magnet opening the hatch. You probably never even noticed there was a hatch up there in the first place. Now, he’s going to spend his days next to you instead, on the other side of the wall to you room. Either way he was always going to end up right under your nose.” 

I thought about the sound that had woken me up last night, the shadow beneath the door. Had that been Sherlock coming in or out of the hatch or had it been Moriarty or Sebastian coming to visit the prisoner in here? It depended on the time they had caught him of course. Either way, it explained why I hadn’t seen anything when opening my door during the night. 

Still, I felt stupid.  
Like Moriarty had pointed out, everything had happened right under my nose and I had been none the wiser. 

But I didn’t get a chance to dwell further into that, as Moriarty started talking again. 

“This has all been very entertaining. But of course, the fun doesn’t end here. There is a reason for your presence in this story as well, Doctor Watson and an important one at that. Time to start earning your wages.” 

He stepped forward and put his hand around Sherlock’s wrist, rolling the sleeve up to his elbow.  
By doing that he revealed a pattern of track marks adorning the pale arm, not many, but still enough to make me inhale sharply. 

“Sweet Sherlock here has a terrible indulgence you see. Don’t understand it myself and frankly, I don’t condone it either. His _previous_ owner, as I am inclined to call Mr Magnussen now, must have been too lenient with him, but I am a much firmer keeper. Understandably he will start craving his deplorable habits soon enough. After all, time is ticking away in here and I’m told that it can turn quite nasty when that happens. And that’s were you step into the picture, Doctor Watson.” 

He pulled the sleeve down again and looked down on Sherlock, head slightly tilted, while contemplating his prisoner. 

“I want my new toy to be sparkling and shiny for me, in top shape for me to play with. Understandably that can’t happen when he’s still under influence. Magnussen might have settled for a boyfriend coked up to his eye-balls, but I have very different standards. So, get him clean, whatever it takes and most important of all, he’s your responsibility now. You are to guard him with your life, protect him, keep tabs on him, guide him back to health. Because he will try to trick you, bargain, plea, threaten, anything his magnificent brain can come up with. Succumb to any of that and you’re dead. Put him back together and you’ll survive and thrive. Easy peasy!” 

And just like after the interview where I had met Moriarty for the very first time, it was like all the energy was suddenly drained from him. He almost slumped in his demeanour in front of us and without any parting words he strode out of the room without looking back. 

Sebastian watched him go but before joining him he turned to us. 

“Like he said, you’re responsible now, Doctor. Eventually he can leave this room, there is no escaping this place anyway, both guards and cameras have been installed in every possible space in the house and out there. But he needs to detox first. If he needs treatment downstairs, in your work room, you call for help. Here, use this pager. Mind, it can only be used to call for help. No one out there in the real world has a pager any more so don’t even think about trying to make contact. Consider yourself a prisoner with benefits and you’ll live. That’s a better deal than what he’s getting.” 

Sebastian nodded in Sherlock’s direction before giving me a final glance. 

After that he left, and I was finding myself alone with Sherlock at last. 


	11. Tending to the ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries doing what Moriarty has ordered him to do, tending to Sherlock. But it does not go well and John finds out that there are more than him being unhappy with the situation.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, stepping up to him, but not knowing if I should touch him just yet. He didn’t seem to be in any immediate physical danger, but I couldn’t know without a proper examination.   
Had he been served food or water? Was he dehydrated? Was he beginning to show signs of abstinence? Was cocaine the only drug he’d been using? 

But he wasn’t very forthcoming.   
Instead he ignored me, slumping back, leaning against the wall behind the bed, as if suddenly tired. It was obvious that he felt suspicious towards me. I was a factor he hadn’t counted on and despite it being apparent that I hadn’t been involved in his capturing, he didn’t really know who I was.

“Look, I understand that this is a lot to take in, it is for me too. It’s been like this the whole week, new twists and turns at every corner, and I for one am not used to this kind of existence. Hell, I didn’t even now what I signed up for when Sebastian Moran told me that he might have a job for me. Never in my life did I imagine ending up in a situation like this. “

He remained quiet but it felt like he was listening at least, so I continued.

“I’m not a willing participant in this. I want you to know that. I’m just a doctor sent home from duty after serving several years abroad in different kinds of war zones around the world. I took this job on a whim, I didn’t have anything else going for me. Regretting it now would be an understatement but there is nothing I can do about it at the moment. You heard him as well as I did, do this or die, and until one of us figures something out, I’ll go with his orders. As I see it, we have one thing to focus on to begin with, and that is going over your health situation. To be able to do that, I’ll need to examine you more closely, take your vitals, maybe run some tests. If it’s true that you are a…ehm, _drug user_ , to put It bluntly, things can go bad very quickly.”

I hesitated.   
Despite the severe situation, a part of me, the more base and primitive fragment of my psyche, longed to reach out and touch him, not only on account of performing a physical examination, but because I longed to do it. His raven curls and that pale, almost translucent, skin just screamed to be touched. I had never, in my role as a doctor, felt that urge before and it disturbed me that I could harbour such perverse thoughts in the middle of all this, so I stubbornly supressed the impulse to reach out and waited for him to give his consent instead. 

But Sherlock Holmes was not amenable to either verbal nor physical contact with me. Instead he remained impassive on the bed, leaning back against the wall, studiously not looking at me.

I thought about what Moriarty and Sebastian had said, about him being my responsibility now, for me to take care of and nurture back to health. I thought of the track marks, and the fact that he had been locked up here, for at least a day already. There were no traces of any nourishments either or an available toilet.

“Have you had anything to eat? Drink? How long have you been locked up in here?”

No reply.

“If I’m going to be treating you, I need to know these things. What, except cocaine have you been using lately?”

That question got me a reaction. His head snapped up, eyes boring into me with fire in them, but still no reply.   
He seemed like a stubborn creature to be honest, and a part of me could understand it, but to forego all the basic bodily needs was not going to serve him any purpose, I might as well snap him out of that idea straight away. 

“If you’re not going to corroborate with me I’ll be forced to call for assistance. I really need to examine you to be able to help you through this.”

He just kept staring at me now, at first with anger in his eyes, then as if assessing me, making me feel like I was being dissected. It made me feel uneasy, especially if he was going to be able to see that I harboured some all but innocent thoughts about him and his body. 

Trying to get away from that feeling I grabbed his arm, going for a basic check of his pulse, but was immediately rewarded with a firm snatch of his arm back, away from my grasp.   
He sat up, straighter, as if readying himself for any further assaults and I sighed, stepping back again.   
This was hopeless. Right now I wasn’t getting through to him, either by basic verbal tries or by being more hands on.

So, as much as it pained me, I texted _help_ into the pager and waited for assistance to arrive.

No less than a minute later a team of four men came rushing in, grabbing him by both arms and legs, moving him off the bed.  
I tried protesting, this was not what I had in mind when calling for help, but they ignored me, probably ordered by Moriarty to do his bidding, not mine. They went for the door, doing their best to balance their victim who tried squirming and trashing against their hold, forcing me to back away from the commotion to let them through. As if knowing my intentions they started carrying him down the stairs, towards the treatment room and all I could do was follow. 

Under their protective eye, still forcefully restraining him, I preformed the basic health check, taking his pulse was of no use as he was still fighting against his captors but everything else was done as well as I could manage it, I even succeeded to procure a blood sample and ordering them to call for my promised lab assistant to come as soon as possible to run some tests. 

When I was done, one of the men holding him, spoke to me:

“Boss says that he needs to be in his room. If you’re done, we’re locking him up again.”

They knew that I had done all I could for now and despite my protestations and Sherlock trying to fight them even harder, they started carrying him away.   
On impulse I tried getting a grip on one of the men, forcing him to release his hold, but I was immediately rewarded with a forceful blow to my abdomen, leaving me gasping for air as they continued out of the room with their prisoner.

I felt completely helpless and for the first time it was beginning to sink in what this was actually going to be like.   
Sherlock was held prisoner by a mad man, being treated like a piece of property, unable to do anything about his situation. And I was forced to do Moriarty’s bidding against my wishes, or else face a gruesome fate. We were both totally helpless.

Getting up from the position I had fallen to after the forceful blow to my abdomen I slowly got back to work, writing up the results of my exam, waiting for the lab assistant to arrive and start analysing the blood sample. 

The rest of the day as well as the next went by in a haze, like my brain had shut down on all mental capacity, only forcing my body to function.   
I didn’t call for help again and Sherlock complied to what I asked of him, but only that. He didn’t reply to any questions and didn’t look at me either when I spoke to him. It pained me that he categorized me with the rest of the people in the house, but on the other hand, why shouldn’t he?   
I was doing what Moriarty asked of me, just like the rest.

The blood test showed signs of only cocaine abuse and on the very same night that I had found him he went into a serious withdrawal, making me suspect that he must have injected somewhere in the house, before being caught. Even if Cocaine didn’t produce such severe physical withdrawal symptom as many other drugs, he still succumbed to chills raking his thin body, with additional tremor and pain. I stayed with him during the nights, witnessing his bout of nightmares, his anxiety attacks and his raging against everything and everyone.

On the third evening I left him, finally succumbed to a fitful sleep, to seek out Sebastian.   
I was a bit worried that I might bump in to Moriarty, but I hadn’t seen him since the big reveal, I wasn’t even sure if he was still in the house. He had hinted that he would stay away as long as Sherlock was detoxing, but who knew? The man was nothing if not unpredictable. 

I found Sebastian sitting behind a desk in one of the many rooms this house occupied, slumped in front of a computer, contemplating something on the screen. Surprised he raised his head when I entered, not even bothering to knock. These new circumstances had driven me to the very edge of my sanity and physical exhaustion, politeness and manners were long gone by now. 

“Please, I ‘m not sure if I can do this under these conditions. I’m afraid that he’ll die!" I pleeded, " He doesn’t eat anything, doesn’t drink and the pain, it’s terrible. This could kill him!”

Sebastian immediately gave me an annoyed look. Like what I was saying was nothing but an inconvenience, vexing but nothing more and easily fixable if I just stopped whining. 

“That’s for you to make sure doesn’t happen, Doctor. If he dies, well…I can’t even begin to tell you how bad that situation would be.”

I tried reasoning with the man I had once had a reasonable working relationship with. I knew that his loyalty was to Moriarty of course, I wasn’t foolish enough to think anything else, but we had been able to talk uncandidly on some occasions at least.

“I don’t understand this. Why is he doing this? Surely he means to have Holmes killed eventually anyway? Why prolong his agony? Is it some kind of torture? Revenge? You told me you liked me once, that I was the only sane man here. If you still feel that way, talk to me! Explain this.”

Sebastian sighed and looked at me with a tightness around the eyes.

“There is no way I can explain Moriarty’s connection to Sherlock Holmes in a way you’ll be able to understand. Hell, even _I_ don’t understand it. It’s this kind of obsession, it was there already from the start, and it has just grown worse over time. He hates him as much as he loves him, I guess. In the beginning it was this kind of hate combined with fascination, they butted heads without meeting, Holmes ruined work we had done for clients by exposing the criminal activity to the police. And soon, it got worse. He, Holmes, showed up everywhere, was beginning to have a seriously negative impact on our affairs, but Moriarty, instead of just ordering someone to off him, just became even more fascinated, bordering on fanatical. They met once, some kind of stand off. I didn’t think Holmes would come out of it alive because Moriarty brought a gun and everything, but he did and after that their game has just intensified. Not so long-ago, Charles Magnussen suddenly announced his engagement to Holmes and the boss just exploded. At first, he was almost incandescent with rage, but after a while he started claiming that it was all part of a plan that Holmes had concocted to get to him. Beats me if that’s really true, but sure, Holmes _did_ try sneaking in here, gathering evidence to take us down. So, who knows?”

“And now that Moriarty has him, what is he planning to do to his prisoner?” I asked.

“He wants him for himself. He was really jealous of Magnussen over that engagement, it was complete obsessive insanity. Magnussen, he knew of course, there is almost nothing that he hasn't some insight to, but they play this game where they act like they get along. Well, their version of getting along. They don’t really need each other to get by in their line of business, Moriarty certainly doesn’t. But as they now had this specific connection to Sherlock Holmes in common, they decided to meet and possibly join forces. It was being nagotiated that night when Holmes disappeared.”

I watched Sebastian spew all of this information, like he had been keeping it all to himself for too long. It was like seeing a physical burden ease from his shoulders momentarily and I wondered why that was.   
As a henchman to Moriarty, things like this must surely be nothing out of the ordinary? Power plays, enemies and rivals, it must be part of his everyday life when living as a criminal. It was not like Sebastian even had to deal with Sherlock himself, Sherlock was just someone they held prisoner in a small, sound isolated room behind a bookshelf on the top floor. Sebastian’s animosity towards him was unreasonable and difficult to grasp. 

“Why don’t you like him?”

He narrowed his eyes while looking at me, suddenly suspicious, assessing my intentions.

“Magnussen?”

“Holmes. Sherlock. Why is that? Your dislike is almost palpable, you’ve never made an effort to hide it.”

He shook his head slightly, seemingly contemplating if he was going to tell me. He had probably harboured those thoughts for some time now, but I wanted to hear him say it, the reason behind his feelings. It would make it easier foe me to navigate these people in the foreseeable future if I knew how they stood with each other. 

“Why does that matter to you?” he finally asked.

“It doesn’t. I’m just wondering why that is. It can’t be all about his attitude and arrogance.”

Sebastian made a face, irritation crossing his eyes.

“When I met Moriarty, he was this very sharp young talent, with a skill to strategize and implement just about anything he set his mind to. I’m not a man who is impressed by mind games and elaborate schemes, I’m only interested in results and putting in the effort to get the job done. But he actually showed me what a little tactic could do to a hair-brained plan, to put it shortly: he over-whelmed me. So I sign up, we make a good pair, I do a lot of the heavy work while he takes care of the brain department. A simple, well-oiled relationship without friction. Then one day, as I told you, Sherlock Holmes comes waltzing in on the stage and I tell you, things have never been the same again. That effective machine we were both a part of was no longer running on full steam. Now the boss gets side-tracked, loses focus, gets more obsessed with what Holmes is up to than what’s happening to our actual business. It’s galling and frustrating and I don’t get it! Because of a pretty face? Because he’s clever and likes complicated puzzles? Because the boss say that they are two sides of the same coin? They’re not!”

He made a frustrated gesture with his hand to point to the ceiling, indicating the hidden room above our heads.

“Take this situation for example. What’s the end game here? _I_ certainly don’t know. Not sure he does either. He just wants to keep him, like a pet or something he can fuck. But it’s not sustainable, I keep telling him that, but he wont listen. Magnussen and Mycroft Holmes will catch on soon enough and what will happen then? They’ll hardly just sit back, rolling their thumbs. Magnussen is vindictive like you can’t even believe. And even if we move the prisoner, what good will that do? Like I said, it’s things like these that makes me hate Sherlock Holmes, because without him it would still just be the two of us, minding our own business like we always have done. No Magnussen, no Holmes brothers, just us.”

So it was some sort of jealousy then. Not that I could blame him. I felt the same way when my mind touched the subject of Magnussen pawing Sherlock. And now it seemed I would have to endure Moriarty wanting to do the same. 

No wonder Sebastian disliked the situation.   
I wondered if I could possibly persuade him to cooperate on an escape plan, but found it to be unreasonable.   
Moriarty was like cobra, none of use would be able to survive if he caught a hint of such plans, it was simply too dangerous at the moment and despite his complaining, Sebastian was loyal to a fault. 

There was nothing more to say really. He had made his views on the matter known and I had made my objections to the situation from my point of view ,but both of us were trapped in the obsessive mind of James Moriarty, with no way to put an end to it.   
All we could do was march on for the time being, waiting for something to change.


	12. Exposed nerve ends

_Sherlock leaned forward, his lips ghosting over my mouth without actually making contact.  
The warmth of his breath made me close my eyes for a second, shivers of pleasure running down my spine. I drew in a breath and held it, anticipating, waiting, hopefully holding out for the kiss. _

_When it didn’t come, I opened my eyes again and stared straight into Sherlock’s dark orbs. He had a small smile on his lips and I could feel my heart beat faster at the proximity, licking my lips and lowering my eyes to that beautiful mouth, so temptingly close.  
Sherlock’s smile grew even wider, showing the gleam of teeth. Then he put his hand on my chest and it felt like my heart was about to break out of my chest by now, blood thundering in my ears. _

_“Please”, I whipered as Sherlock’s hand slowly made its way slowly down to my stomach and, after hesitating a second, kept gliding even lower._  
I could feel my cock stiffen, pushing against the fabric of the boxers.  
I closed my eyes, taking in the impact of all my senses piercing through me, leaning against the novel touch of Sherlock’s hand making its way even further down.  
It stopped just above the waistband of my boxers, lingering there, fingers ghosting against the fabric. I tried raising myself towards the touch and felt the connection briefly before Sherlock removed his hand and I slumped back again, frustrated. A growl escaped my lips and I was about to open my eyes again when I felt something engulf my crotch, something warm and damp and aaaahhhhh…. 

_I jolted from the sensation and despite not seeing it for myself I could picture Sherlock’s mouth covering my genitals through the boxers, his tongue sticking out, trailing a path against the straining bulge in my boxers._

_I opened my eyes and saw Sherlock’s head bending over me, mouth working against the fabric, those dark curls bouncing slightly from the movement.  
It was simply glorious. _

_With nimble fingers Sherlock made his way inside the waistband, pulling the boxers down and for a few seconds cold air hit my sensitive skin, aching to be touched, before Sherlock lowered his head again, this time trailing his tongue softly along the shaft.  
It felt like all my nerve ends were exposed, craving the touch like nothing I had ever wanted as strongly before, it was almost bordering on painful and I moaned at the sensation of Sherlock’s tongue working its way from the shaft to the head, closing his mouth around it and sucking the tender flesh like a lollipop, tongue twirling in delicate licks . _

_I closed my eyes again, letting the wave of pleasure overtake me, digging my nails into the mattress while Sherlock increased the pace on his sucking, making wet noises while doing it, cupping the testicles, lightly squeezing them before putting more pressure into his hold._

_“What are you doing to me, Sherlock? My God….” I whispered, panting in rhythm with his mouth movements._

_My eyes widened as I came, desire pulsating through me in waves of pleasure, making me scream out and bucking against the sensation.  
I met his eyes, drowning in them, feeling dizzy looking into his dark, hooded gaze. _

_His smile was still plastered on his lips, but it looked more forced now and while still riding the spasms of orgasm I felt a twinge of worry._

_Trying to compose myself enough to steady my breathing I reached out to touch him, suddenly aware of not having done so once during the whole act. The other thing that struck me was the fact that he hadn’t said a word._  
But as I raised my arm, trying to reach him, he leaned backwards, out of reach and suddenly there wasn’t even the hint of a smile on his lips.  
Instead he looked pained, scared almost and he slipped even further away from me. 

_“Wait!” I called out, trying to lunge after him, but like smoke he vaporized into thin air, disappearing and leaving me alone on the bed._

_“Sherlock!”_

I jolted awake.  
The first thought that hit me was the darkness surrounding me, the empty room and the stickiness in my pants. 

So a dream then…

I sighed and scrubbed my hand over my face, trying to rid me of the tension immediately edging itself to my features.  
It had felt so real and obviously my body had felt that way too. 

This whole situation we were in was beginning to take its toll on me.  
Sherlock’s silence, his obvious pain, that small room where he was being held captive and despite my efforts I couldn’t break through the barrier he had built around himself as protection. 

The worst symptoms were beginning to diminish but his body was exhausted and every time I saw him, he looked like a trapped animal, all senses on alert but stubbornly pretending like I wasn’t there. 

Moriarty had come by once, two days ago, impatiently waiting for his captive to begin being entertaining.  
I wasn’t allowed in the room while he was there but the visit was a short one, ending with Moriarty storming out, scratch mark on his cheek and anger in his eyes. 

“Tie him up!” he ordered me, before vanishing down the stairs, returning some minutes later with a riding crop in his hand. 

iately surged through me and I stubbornly shook my head when I saw it, I wasn’t participating in this. I stepped in front of him, opening my mouth to protest but to my shock he whipped out a gun from the inside pocket of his suit, pointing it in my face. 

“Now, doctor or I’ll make you into a sieve!”

“You can’t do this…,” I began but when I met the fiery blackness of his raging eyes I saw that there was no reasoning with him.  
Slowly I turned around, moving towards the library and the small room behind the book shelf, thinking frantically of what I could do to stop this. 

“Why haven’t you fixed him yet?” I could hear Moriarty hiss behind me. “He’s like a wild creature, he actually attacked me!” 

There was a tone of shock in his voice, like he couldn’t grasp why someone held prisoner would lash out against his captor. His take on reality was clearly as unbalanced as the man himself.

“He’s recovering from a drug abuse, that doesn’t just fix itself with the snap of a finger!” I protested, putting in as much reproach in my voice as I could get away with.

“Don’t get with smart with me. Don’t you think I know that he was a drughead, that’s why you’re here after all. But it’s been ages now! How long can it possibly take to get a man to stop hankering for cocaine? Surely not this long.”

Behind his back Sebastian had emerged.  
His eyes fell on the riding crop in his boss’s hand, quickly turning his eyes from it towards me instead, motioning with his hand, urging me to keep up the conversation. I understood his reasoning, but not fully expecting it to work. Moriarty was too worked up to be side-tracked by any reasoning from me.

“I haven’t been able to get him to speak with me yet, so I don’t really know how long he’s been indulging in drugs…”

“Since his teenage years. Total waste of his talent, but I get it, things get so boring for people like him and me. Not that I would ever be stupid enough to turn to drugs, there are other ways of entertaining yourself.”

“Such as?” I tried but he just shook his head, pushing past me, obviously done talking now.

“Nice try, Doctor Watson. Stupid though and so pedestrian. But what can you expect from the help? Sebastian!!!”

Sebastian made a small disappointed sigh but stepped forward.

“Yes boss?”

“Tie him up. I have a lesson to give. Your dismissed, Watson.”

With that he locked the door to the library, leaving me standing helplessly outside the door. 

I remained lingering outside, trying to hear what took place in there, but heard nothing, not even a scream.  
I thought of Moriarty’s black eyes his eyes and clenched my fists in anger. When we finally would come up with a plan and be able to leave this place, I was going to trash that bastard myself with his riding crop before leaving.

 

I waved away the memory of that incident now and rose from my bed, pants sticky, making me uncomfortable and slightly guilty for dreaming like this about a man suffering on the other side of the wall, trying to calm myself enough to be able go check on him.  
He was no longer in need of any assistance during the nights and with a feeling that I was intruding on his privacy I had started leaving him alone during the nights, retreating back to my own room. He didn’t always sleep, I knew that, but at least he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

Changing out of my soiled boxers and putting on a fresh pair, I threw a robe on and went over to the library, opening up the hidden door into Sherlock’s room.

After my dream I was almost picturing him being awake and as spent as I was feeling myself, but he was actually sleeping.  
The room was never fully dark as it lacked curtains in the window and a small lamp was installed in the corner of the ceiling, casting a constant dimming light.  
I suspected that the room was being supervised with a hidden camera somewhere but I had never been able to localise it. 

I stepped forward, standing in front of the bed, looking down at him. 

There was an innocence to his relaxed features and a fragment of his full lips wrapped around my cock surged through my head, making me feel the urge to reach out and touch him, stroke his cheek, just feel his skin under my fingers in another capacity than as a doctor. 

But I didn’t, I just remained where I was, standing over his sleeping form.

As I was about to turn around and leave, he suddenly moved in his sleep, a frown forming between his eyes.  
Next thing I knew, he blinked and stared up at me.  
Surprised I stepped back, afraid of frightening him, but he just continued to stare at me silently. 

Then his gaze changed, his eyes slowly raked over me, that same dissecting look I had experienced the day I had found out about his existence here.  
Suddenly very aware of myself I tried closing up my robe self-consciously, stepping even further away and beginning to form a plausible explanation for my presence. But just as quickly as his eyes had examined me with that laser sharp look, they suddenly turned soft, as if finding what he was looking for.  
A small smile made a hasty appearance before he turned around, facing the wall instead, back against me.

“Good night, Doctor.”

His baritone voice vibrated in the room, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. With those words, his first spoken to me since ending up in my care, I quietly retreated back out of the room, leaving him to get back to sleep.


	13. New developments and making arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John fears an awkward situation after last night, but things take an unsuspecting turn.

The next day, Sebastian sought me out before breakfast.

“Boss says that Holmes is to be released from the room. It’s time. He’s well enough to be able to walk around as he likes. Might improve his mood as well.”

I raised my eyebrows at this, because if Moriarty thought that all he had to do was to extend the area of where his prisoner was allowed to move, he was sorely mistaken. That red welt across Sherlocks shoulder blades might serve as a reminder to begin with, but he was not someone who would just settle into this situation that easily and besides, it was not likely that he would succumb to Moriarty’s wishes either. 

“This doesn’t change you position that much though. You’re still responsible for his wellbeing and whatever he does or how he feels reflects on you, so keep that in mind,”Sebastian finished.

“Where is he to sleep from now on?”

"Guest room, next to yours. He’s not to be locked up. Like I said, he can wander anywhere he likes here, more or less, even outside, it’s impossible to escape.”

“Am I to inform him of this?”

“No, Moriarty will do it himself. You will meet with Holmes after lunch, before that he’s with the boss.”

I gave Sebastian a sharp look. Considering what had happened the last time Moriarty had sought out Sherlock’s company, it didn’t feel like an ideal situation. It was several hours until lunch, anything could happen before then and most likely nothing good.

“Is that wise?”

Sebastian assessed me before replying.

“Is he getting under your skin as well? I swear, everyone seems to have a blind spot when it comes to Holmes. Look at Magnussen for example. Never thought he would have it in him to feel for anyone, he’s a veritable carnivore without an ounce of humanity in him, and yet, not only did Holmes manage to totally turn his head, he got a ring out of it too. Then there is Holmes senior of course, equally stifled emotionally and just as ruthless, even the boss calls him the _Ice man_ , and yet, his weakness, his only one, is definitely his erratic baby brother, although that might of course be explained by family ties. Then the boss of course. Totally insane when it come to this man, beyond all rhyme and reason. And now you too?”

I shook my head.

“No. You’re jumping to the wrong conclusions, I’m merely concerned. Whatever you think about me I’m still a doctor and that means that I care about people’s well-being. Getting whipped with a riding crop is not something I will ever condone, despite being threatened with a gun to my face!”

Anger had worked its way into my voice and I stepped up to his face. Despite his height and considerable size, I wasn’t afraid of him. He at least was human and therefor to be reasoned with. Moriarty on the other hand, he was a monster, totally without conscience. 

Sebastian stared down at me, not backing away but not make any efforts to challenge me either. Finally he nodded, point taken. 

“I’m not happy about that incident either. Moriarty out of control is never a good thing and he actually seemed to regret his actions afterwards. Not for flogging Holmes per se, but because it didn’t get him anywhere. Holmes didn’t even scream, just took it silently. This game they’re playing, it's pointless if you ask me. Better kill him and be done with him, l say. Or actually turn it in to a real kidnapping, get some money out of it. Both Magnussen and the brother will cough up a considerable sum and it would have the added advantage of rubbing Holmes nose in his own failure. But the boss is refusing to listen to any of my advice.”

“Lucky for you perhaps, because I would never accept any of your ideas either. Kill him and I’ll kill the both of you, even if it’s the last thing I do,” I hissed. 

“Easy there, Doctor. Keep talking like that and you’ll end up killed on your own account. Who’s going to look out for precious Holmes then? So watch it, do as your told and you may both survive this ordeal a little longer.”

With that he turned his back against me and strode off.

Afterwards I wondered if I had shown my hand a little too obviously, revealing my inner feelings and making an enemy of the only man here willing to at least give me some information. But his words had angered me and I wasn’t going to allow anyone to talk like that about Sherlock, like he was a commodity, easily disposed of if necessary. The thought made my stomach clench anxiously because even if I did my best to protest, I knew that what he had said could very well become likely scenarios.  
A part of me suspected that this could never end well, probably one of us or both would end up dead, the question was more about when that would happen. 

A little restless without my daily duty of looking after my patient I patrolled the garden for a while, but the sight of the guards just raised my unease and grumpily I went back inside, pacing the different floors instead. 

I wondered behind which door Moriarty and Sherlock were, I never had figured out where my employer resided when not working.   
There were a few rooms that were always locked and I suspected that one of them must be his private lodgings, where he slept, got dressed, relaxed perhaps and probably ate his meals as well. No one ever seemed to eat in the dining room where the dinner party had taken place and I never saw him in the kitchen with the rest of us so he probably ate in privacy, in his own room. 

Despite the frankly awkward incident last night, both the sexual dream but also me getting caught standing by his bed in the middle of the night, I longed to see Sherlock again.   
The fact that he had finally talked to me, even if it had just been three small words, made me feel like we had taken things to the next level.   
The small smile on his lips meant even more, and the memory of it still made me tingle inside with anticipation of seeing him again. Hopefully he wouldn’t bring up last night's strange behaviour, but if he did I could always blame it on me checking in on him. I was his doctor after all. 

I kept a close eye on the clock, waiting for Sherlock to return and finally, past one o’clock, he came walking up the stairs.   
He was being accompanied by Sebastian who shot me a suspicious look but didn’t say anything. Instead he just led the way to the guest room, next to mine and swung the door open.

“Here. This is your new room. You still have doctor Watson in the room next to yours, should you need his help. But like Moriarty said, you can go wherever you want now.”

“How _very_ generous, thank you…” Sherlock rolled his eyes and I couldn’t help but smirk at his gesture and the annoyed grimace Sebastian made. 

Sherlock seemed much livelier than he had been just a day ago, a spring to his step and something resembling a glimmer in his eye. It made me happy to see.

I told him to come with me down to the treatment room, leaving Sebastian behind, staring at us. 

When we were finally alone, he jumped up and seated himself on the examination table, looked at me for a second, as if assessing me and then slowly raised his hands to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it. 

I gulped, immediately reminded of my dream, despite this being a perfectly natural behaviour, performed millions of times by patients of mine during the years, also by Sherlock.   
The difference was that this was the first time he did it without me demanding it first. The previous times he had done it, his hands had been jittery but still making rather quick work of the process. This time he took his time, slowly undoing each button, exposing the pale, smooth skin beneath the fabric. 

I couldn’t help but stare, but when I noticed that his eyes were studying me, I discreetly cleared my throat and reluctantly turned my back towards him, reaching for my stethoscope. 

When I turned towards him again, the shirt was completely off and his upper body on full display. 

Although I had seen it several times already and admittedly admired it but still managed to perform my duties, this time felt different.   
It was like he was almost flaunting himself, sitting up straighter, presenting an elegant shape with the broader shoulders and the narrow waist, no fat in sight, just slenderness, bordering on a bit too thin.

He kept looking at me, something resembling a challenge in his eyes and when I didn’t step forward, he raised his eyebrows, questioningly

“Get on with it, will you?” he finally said and I quickly stepped forward, warmed the stethoscope on my sleeve before pressing against his chest. 

His rhythm was steady and healthy, a strong heart beating away inside him.

“Turn around,” I said and he sat himself sideways so I could see his back. The red welt was staring angrily back at me and I avoided it while putting the stethoscope to his back, asking him to take a deep breath. 

When I was finished with my examination, the welt had been padded with a sterile solution and his track marks had been examined that they healed as they should, he turned his head so his eyes met mine.

“Satisfied, Doctor Watson?”

And if I thought I heard a tone of innuendo in his voice I didn’t show it, I just put my equipment away on the table next to me.

“Please, call me John. No need to be formal, “I said, trying my best to sound calm and even.

“John.”

My name in his voice made my mouth dry and when I turned towards him again he had risen, being much closer to me than when being seated.   
There wasn’t even an arm’s length between us and the proximity was making me aware of how beautiful he really was.   
He was flawless. 

Suddenly I felt the impulse to reach out and touch him and I raised my hand to follow that impulse, but before I managed to get it high enough for him to notice he turned around and lifted his discarded shirt from the examination table. Disappointed I let my hand fall again, stepping back.

What came next was a surprise.

“There is a camera in the curtain rod by the window,” he whispered, back still turned against me and also against said curtain rod. As if struck by lightning I stepped back from him and was just about to turn around to look at the curtain when he quickly told me not to look.

“The sound is either not working like it should or is disabled for some reason, probably on account of it only being you who have been talking until now. No use for sound when the prisoner isn’t saying anything.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it again, suddenly careful to reveal something to those watching us.   
Even if it had always seemed likely that we were being filmed everywhere, Sebastian had hinted as much, it hadn’t really crossed my mind in the way it did now, making me very aware of every movement I made.

“Pretend to go about your business, I’ll have to turn around soon and then I can’t really talk too much anymore, unless they be tempted to turn on the sound again," he continued, breaking my numbness, finally finding my voice again.

“They must have noticed you talking to me earlier?”

“A word here and there, nothing more. You can talk if you like, you have been during the whole time, but I can’t be seen to interact too much.”

Before I could say anything more he turned around again, shirt buttoned up, mouth closed.

He looked expectantly at me and at first I didn’t know what to do, but then I snapped out of it, pretended to go about my usual business but taking advantage of the fact that at least I could talk, even if he couldn’t really reply. 

“We have to find a way to be able to communicate with each other without them catching on,” I said, fiddling with a thermometer, contemplating if I should pretend to take his temperature just so we could stay in here a little longer, but in the end deciding that it would seem too suspicious. Sherlock had shown no signs of any fever for the last couple of days and considering the fact that Moriarty had met him earlier today, he would know that there was no need to check for it.

Letting my hands glide over my table with equipments I finally thought of a solution.

“I’ll need to check you weight. Your body has suffered severly these couple of days and it’s obvious you’ve lost some weight while detoxing. Please step on the scale, it’s there by the door.”

I could se a glint of admiration in his eyes as he turned his back against me and the camera again, walking over to the scale, slowly stepping on it. I walked over to him, getting really close, pretending to look at the numbers on the display.

“Based on what information I could gather from Moriarty by what he said today, this at least is a room where there’s no sound, not sure about the others though. But based on probability the garage is most likely also a place where there is no sound, just a simple surveillance camera. Do you have access there?” 

“Yes,” I said and leaning forward, as if having difficulty seeing the results on the scale properly. His head turned slightly towards me, his breath ghosting against my skin, sending a tremble through me, as he smiled. 

“Excellent. Take me out there after dinner. Let’s pretend that you want me to get some fresh air and just spontaneously lead us there.”

With that he stepped off the scale but I made a motion with my hand, indicating that he should step back on.

“Won’t that seem suspicious? I mean, going inside a _garage_?”

“Pretend that you have an interest in cars, work something out, just get us there,” he said while stepping on the scale. This time I actually did look down on the numbers, noting that he definitely needed to bulk up a bit, this weight was not healthy for a grown-up man. 

To rid him of any hopes he might harbor about escape I decided to inform him of the impossibility.

“You understand that we can’t escape, I no longer have any access to a car. I did in the beginning but the key is confiscated now, they took it back around the time I started treating you. Not that I had used it before, but at least there was a time where I was allowed outside the premises if I had wished it. Now that option is gone.”

He stepped down from the scale, again turning his head towards me, so close this time that we almost touched. 

“It’s just so we can talk. You trust me, right? John?”

For a second I thought that he was going to press his lips to my cheek and despite the fact that such a gesture surely would be picked up by the camera, I wished for it to happen, turning my own head in his direction. But just as I was to close the small distance between us, he slightly shook his head, turning away.

The moment was over.

He faced the room and the camera again while I remained by the scale, as if contemplating the result.

“Of course,” I said with a low voice and turned around. “I’ll pick you up after dinner.”


	14. Lovefool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a disastrous mistake...

I tried breathing but it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving me gasping while my thoughts ran a 1000 miles per hour without being able to form one simple solution that could help me now.

I was beyond panic, hyperventilating and almost physically shaking, without the strength to snap out of it and take some sort of control back.  
Because this was it. The end.  
I was doomed for sure. 

I looked at the empty spot where the car had been, like I was willing it to be in its place, but of course, it just remained an empty spot, some skid marks on the ground where he had accelerated before driving off.

“No, no, no, no, no…” I could hear myself say, grasping my hair with my fingers, tugging, as if trying to ground myself with the help of physical pain in the midst of this emotional turmoil.  
But nothing could help me now.  
It was too late...

I had been completely blind-sided, exactly what Sebastian had warned me about, but of course I hadn’t listened. Because he was one of the bad guys, and me and Sherlock were not, we were the victims here, the good guys. Only, now I wasn’t so sure about that anymore. 

Because Sherlock had left me here, taking advantage of the weakness he had obviously been able to see and had completely fooled me.  
Despite his parting words, that he would come back with help and get me out of here as soon as possible, I felt that it would probably be too late by then. 

And considering the way he had deceived me, who’s to say if he was even speaking the truth?

 

The evening had started off very differently and it made me sick when I considered how excited I had been just a few minutes earlier, the whole afternoon leading up to this, a small buzz of anticipation running through me as I tried passing the hours until dinner was over.

The hours leading up to dinner, I didn’t see Sherlock.  
He might have been cooped up in his room, or maybe Moriarty had requested his presence again. Whatever the case I didn’t see him and I tried passing my time by reading, taking another fruitless walk in the garden, even taking a quick glimpse inside the garage, just so it wouldn’t seem suspicious if I took him there later this evening. 

I made a show of inspecting the cars, at the same time trying to locate the camera in there. It didn’t take me long to locate it and Sherlock was probably right when he said that it was a simpler surveillance type of recorder, no sound, just video feed. 

I looked at the cars, let my hand run over the bonnet of a few of them, lingering a little longer just for the sake of pretence, before leaving again, continuing my pacing of the garden. 

Around seven there was a knock on the door to my room and a servant informed me that my presence was required in the dining room.

When I stepped inside Moriarty was already seated at the head of the table, Sherlock next to him, exactly like during the dinner party a few weeks back, and a plate set on his other side, probably for me to occupy.

Not waiting for an invitation to be seated I walked over to the empty seat and placed myself.

“Doctor Watson, welcome. I thought we could take this opportunity to dine together for once and celebrate the developments in this little situation we find ourselves in. Sherlock here, finally well enough to end his confinement in that small dreary room he has been residing in, largely thanks to your expert care.”

He raised his glass in a salute, first in Sherlock’s direction, then mine. 

Our glasses were empty and he didn’t seem concerned whether or not we saluted him back so none of us did, just watching him take a taste of what looked like very fine Champagne, the bottle in front of him on the table, next to his plate.

Dinner was a low-key affair, Sherlock hardly spoke and when he did it was monosyllabic. Despite that fact, Moriarty seemed to be in good spirits, nattering away, mostly in a dialogue style where no answers were required and the few times a question was thrown out by him, I was the one who responded.

Most of what he was saying was nonsense, not touching on either our situation, us or his criminal activities, it was like he was playing a role of someone attending a cocktail party where nothing of consequence was being said but a constant stream of words kept pouring out of his mouth. 

Not until dessert arrived, a rich whipped cream with strawberries and sprinkled chocolate ripple, growing in my mouth as I ate, did he touch on something more related to our circumstances.

“I’m glad I hired you. Despite the fact that dear Sherlock doesn’t seem to have warmed to you yet, giving you the silent treatment, I’m very happy with the progress you have made with him so far. It took a little _too_ long for my liking, but as we are now here, beginning a new phase, I’m ready to overlook that small detail.”

He took a huge spoonful of cream, making a show of taking it all in his mouth, looking very content. Like a cat swallowing a canary, I thought tensely.

Sherlock hadn’t eaten much of the food and simply refused to even taste the dessert, despite Moriarty’s prompting, but not even that seem to vex his captor.

“You always were a fussy eater I’m told. Magnussen informed me you know. So kind of him to give me some small advice of your quirks and eccentricities, without even knowing that I would need them. From one owner to the next, so to speak. How do you think he’s coping without you?”

Sherlock gave him an even look but didn’t say anything, just made a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Don’t care, do you? Well, can’t blame you really, that man was all kinds of repulsiveness, I wouldn’t miss his clammy hands either, if I was in your position. Not that ever I would be, mind you.”

He leaned forward, against Sherlock, suddenly a sharpness to his eyes.

“Care to indulge me on why you ended up being engaged to the man? I must admit it threw me off a bit, even if I could deduce the reason eventually.”

“If you have deduced it, why do you want me to tell you?”

“Because I want to hear you confirm it.”

They locked eyes for a second, a tension building up between them before Sherlock shrugged his shoulders again, giving a non-committal expression, as if he couldn’t care less.

“He asked.”

Moriarty’s eyes narrowed, boring into his prisoner and for a second I thought he was going to explode in anger, but just as fleetingly as that emotion fluttered across his features it was gone again, replaced by merriment, resulting in one of his high-pitched laughs.

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll tell me later. Better leave some secrets intact for now, wouldn’t want to tire of you too soon.”

To prevent any more stinging comments I picked up a thread of discussion myself, unprompted and Moriarty let me, despite glaring at Sherlock while eating his dessert in continuous large spoonsful of cream and strawberries.

“I think it would be beneficial for Mr Holmes to be able to come out and get some fresh air. I plan to take him for a walk after dinner, around the garden perhaps.” I suggested, with our earlier conversation in mind.

“Ooh, he will most likely hate that!” Moriarty giggled, scraping the last of the dessert from the glass bowl, “But by all means, you’re the doctor and he will have to do as you say. I condone that suggestion fully. Take him for that walk, if you deem it valuable for his health. Like I said earlier, he’s allowed to walk the premises, wherever he pleases.”

I nodded and that seemed to sum up dinner, shortly after we were both excused, as if by a father waiving away his children from the table. 

“I’m thinking we should leave straight away, I’m just getting my coat and you can pick something warm to wear as well, if you like. Meet you by the door in five minutes,” I said before heading upstairs. 

Up in my room I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth quickly, inspecting my appearance critically in the mirror. I might have read everything completely wrong but at the same time, no gain was to be had if you never had the guts to throw yourself out there. Maybe there was a place were we could be unobserved and if there was, I was going to go for it and kiss him. 

I had thought about it all afternoon, gone over our conversation in my head, every small detail, specifically the way he had removed his shirt in a semi-seductive way and stood really close to me in the examination room. There was a risk that I had let my judgement be clouded by my own desires and that dream last night, but if there was even a remote chance that he reciprocated some of the feelings I harboured I wasn’t willing to miss the opportunity.  
I was fairly sure he wouldn’t tell Moriarty about it anyway, so the worst-case scenario would be him simply rejecting my advances and then I would have to accept his wishes. 

Critically I let my eyes roam my appearance, not happy about the greying streaks in my otherwise sand coloured hair, the signs of tiredness and sleep deprivation manifesting themselves with lines and dark smudges under my eyes.  
I had foregone the cane after proving to myself that I didn’t actually need it, after that day when I had left it behind in the garden when discovering Sherlock in that window, so at least I didn’t feel as invalided anymore, but my shoulder adorned a huge mass of scar tissue, not very attractively and I wasn’t nearly as ripped as I had been when working on the field.

I was not playing in the same league as Sherlock when it came to looks, not even close, but despite my, what others would call, rather non-descript appearance, kind and very normal looking, I had learned that there were people who enjoyed me nonetheless and I knew that I could be more than charming if needed.  
Once described by a former partner as a solid rock, loyal to a fault, never shying away from danger and prepared to give my all to those deserving of my affections, I knew that I had my advantages after all.  
Sherlock might be a beauty to behold but his manners couldn’t be described as anything other than arrogant and snarky, so we both had our shortcomings I told myself as I ran a hand through my hair before heading downstairs to meet up with him.

He was already waiting by the door, dressed in a scarf and a coat when I came down, as if eager to get moving and the sight produced a smile on my lips. I felt just as eager.

As soon as we came a bit further from the house, he finally spoke, letting his eyes roam our surroundings but not moving his actual head doing it.  
I had never thought about surveillance out on the premises but when thinking about it, of course there would be something beyond just the guards. I couldn't help but look for hidden cameras as well, hopefully as discreetly as him.

“Don’t worry,” he hissed, “He isn’t completely paranoid. We are probably observed to some extent but not in the same capacity as in the house.”

“How can you tell?” I couldn’t help but sound a bit doubtful. Far as I knew he couldn’t know this for sure as he hadn’t been outside since his capture.

“I don’t, but simple deduction tells me that it’s much more difficult to be under supervision out here compared to inside. Not enough places to have cameras, it’s quite an open area, which probably serves the purpose to more easily spot intruders by the guards, but at the same time limits the opportunity to install surveillance everywhere. Not enough trees, buildings, bushes or lamp posts.”

I looked at him while he talked.  
He seemed like an expert talking, as if having experience on the subject, and I thought about his occupation, that detective business. How many other times had he been in this kind of situation?

“Never like this,” he answered, to my huge surprise, as if being able to read my inner thoughts. “But enough to know the most necessary information about surveillance and such. Besides, Magnussen had his fair share of it too, as well as my brother. He’s probably the one who’s thought me the most about keeping someone under constant investigation, he does that on a regular basis, having the whole CCTV system of the country at his disposal.”

I narrowed my eyes, checking for signs of him pulling my leg, but he showed none of that. But what he was saying made no sense, who would be powerful enough to have that kind of access?

Once again it was like he read my thoughts, because he sighed tiredly and answered:

“That’s the beauty of his cover. He looks like a stuffy civil servant and the stuffy part isn’t even a lie, but everything else pretty much is. He’s one of the most powerful men in the country I’d say, controlling CCTV isn’t even the beginning of it. I won’t bore you with everything he can control and I'm certainly not an advocate for his methods, merely making a point. When it comes to surveillance, I learned some of it from the best. Don’t ever let him know I said that though, he’s insufferable as he is and more often than not an unbearable, fat abomination in my life. “

I couldn’t help but laugh and it threw him off for a second, looking at me, questioningly.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just what you’re saying, about your brother. He’s one of England’s most powerful men but at the same time just your older brother, with whatever that entails. Typical little brother’s view on an older sibling. Believe me, I know. I have a sister and no one can rile me up the way she can.”

A smile escaped his lips, before humming an affirmative. 

We had made a tour around the pond, heading for the gazebo a little further ahead, before going to the garage. It might have been seen as suspicious if we had gone there straight away. 

On our walk we had passed a few guards but they did nothing to stop us or even acknowledge our presence besides walking by, so I soon got used to their presence. The only detail I noted was that there seemed to be more of them than previously.  
When I told Sherlock, he nodded.

“Yes. Despite what I said about Moriarty not being completely paranoid, he is aware of the difficulty of keeping tabs on us out here, so he has naturally increased the staff patrolling the grounds.”

“Won’t they report back to him that we are talking?”

“Possibly but not likely. Besides, they can’t really hear what we’re saying, out meetings are too swift. We might as well be discussing the weather.”

“So why go to the trouble of visiting the garage if we can just as well speak out here?” 

“Because I can’t be a hundred percent sure that what I’m saying is actually true. Besides, the garage is the only way to get out of here.”

I shook my head. 

“I told you, I don’t have a key to a car anymore. They must have taken it when I was going to begin treating you, anyway it's gone. I only have the swipe card giving me access to the garage.”

“That’s more than I have,” he muttered, as we once again passed a guard. This one gave Sherlock a quick look but didn’t stop or show any more signs of suspiciousness. 

During our walk we had talked almost non stop, but there hadn’t been any signs of anything more intimate being on offer, not even anything resembling proximity as we strolled the pathways, and I wondered if I might have misunderstood the whole thing after all, when suddenly, as we reached the gazebo, he turned towards me.

There was a smouldering to his eyes now and immediately my heart began pounding harder, anticipating his next move. 

“I haven’t heard that much about you, John. Beside the most obvious, like being a former army doctor with a psychosomatic limp and an injury to your shoulder, a hard time readjusting to civilian life and a penchant for danger, there isn’t much information.”

I blinked in surprise. 

“How do you know all that? Did Sebastian tell you?”

He let out a small, dry laugh.

“Colonel Moran you mean? Not likely, that man hates me. He wouldn’t give me a piece of information voluntarily if his life depended on it. I deduced it, of course. That’s what I do. I read people and there is always some details that reveal something about a person.”

I tilted my head, meeting his gaze now, fascinated.

“And what was it about me that gave you this information?”

“Already on the evening when we first met, I saw that you had no use of that cane you carried around with you, on account of you sometimes forgetting that you had it in your hand and was very able to get by without it. That you had trouble adjusting to civilian life was evident by the fact that you were desperate enough to accept a job offer by this lot, obviously without knowing much about what the work would entail. Only a half-broken man would do that, even go so far as to move into a new house, cutting all ties with any previous living conditions, indicating that you hardly had any living conditions worthy of missing. That you are a man who doesn’t shy away from danger is evident from your willingness to not only risk getting caught sneaking around a garage for no other apparent reason except that I have told you to do it, and also…”

Here he hesitated for a second, letting his eyes fall down to my lips and then further down, to my throat.

“…the very evident detail that you have brushed your teeth, fixed your hair and your pulse has increased during the previous minutes, talking to me, holding a small, not totally uncalculated hope that I might be amenable to be kissed when we get to the garage, despite the risk of getting caught on camera and thus attracting the very substantial wrath of our host and captor. Still you seem to deem it worth it, therefor a man drawn to danger, even if unwisely so. Oh, and also the very literal fact that you told me that you were a doctor from various war zone areas on our first day of treatment.”

When he said the last part he smiled a little mischievously but his eyes still observing me, looking for a reaction. It took a moment to take in all that had come pouring out of him, getting my feelings all tumbled up, mixing astonishment with embarrassment at his mention about my wishes to kiss him, but mostly I was simply very impressed.

“That’s…amazing!” I finally said and I could se a hint of surprise in his eyes.

“Really? Most people find my deductions disturbing and offensive.”

“No! I mean, yeah sure, it was a bit embarrassing about me wanting to kiss you and you being able to see it, but otherwise, that was bloody fantastic!”

An honest smile came over him, it was wonderful to behold and so different from all the other smiles I had seen him make, that I wondered if this might be his truly genuine one. It made me smile even broader.

“So, the garage it is then?” he asked, winking and I laughed.  
It felt almost strange. I hadn’t laughed a true hearty laugh for ages, it felt almost novel, like an ability I had forgotten how to do and something that was probably pent up pressure, eased a little inside me. He was absolute right when he had said that I was willing to neglect the danger of getting caught by kissing him and now I was eager to prove it too.

“Yeah, let’s go!” I said and we started to head off in the direction of the garage.

In front of the entrance I held up the key card to open up, letting him in first, following closely by. 

“I was here earlier today. There is a camera, but like you said, it looks pretty standard, most likely no sound,” I said as he looked around the place. “If we position ourselves behind a pillar, it might not even record our actions. It will look suspicious of course, if anyone is actually watching, but if we do it quickly…” I trailed of, suddenly unsure again.

“Quickly? Thought you wanted to do a thorough examination of my tonsils, doctor…” 

He smiled that naughty smile again, walking backwards towards one of the cars, as if beckoning me to follow by simple body language. With a grin I followed him until he stopped next to an old Toyota Corolla and waited for me to catch up.

“This is a perfect spot,” he whispered, “If you turn you back against the car and I stand in front of you, the camera will have difficulty picking out our position and also not what we do, as the main part of our bodies are hidden by the car and our faces aren’t facing the camera.”

Gently he positioned me in the right spot and then placing himself in front of me. 

“You’re right about that the kiss might have to be a quick affair and that it might have to become our final act. But before that, how about we switch roles for a moment, _Mr Watson_?”

It took a second before I caught on, a deep growl escaping me. I was usually the one in charge and my intentions had been for me to be that now as well, but alright, if he wanted to play this game first, why not?

“That’s a hard-earned title. But fine, _Doctor Holmes_ , do a thorough examination, just this once.” 

My plan was to let him initiate, to see how willing he was to go through with this, and then go in for the kiss myself. But to my surprise he was much surer of himself than what I was expecting and with a hand he ghosted quickly over my chest before whispering in a silky voice: 

“Close your eyes, please, Mr Watson. We don’t have much time, but let me see what I can do for you today.”

I thought of my dream, where he had sucked me dry while I had also kept my eyes closed occasionally. Not that I expected that scenario to come to life, but it was a nice incentive to have that memory in mind when relaxing into what was happening in front of me. Willingly I did as he said and closed my eyes.

“Thank you. No keep calm and let the doctor take good care of you. Trust me.”

I could feel something being put over my eyes and startled, but he shushed me reassuringly. 

“It’s just a scarf, nothing dangerous. Ease into it.”

I tried opening my eyes against the fabric none the less but finding that I was unable to see anything I closed them again and tried doing what he told me to, namely relax.  
A thought of this being filmed by the camera crossed my mind but the added risk of danger only heightened my senses. 

His hands trailed down from my chest, over my stomach, making me involuntarily suck it in a bit, partly out of body insecurities but also because I was ticklish. Before I had a chance to think about it his hands were already down by my belt, undoing the buckle and I inhaled even sharper, slightly shocked over how quickly he was progressing.

“Relax, Mr Watson, just let me take care of you,” he whispered close to my ear and his voice made my knees go weak, threatening to let me sink down to the ground.  
I could feel his hands undoing my belt and letting the trousers glide down my ankles, soon followed by my pants. Like in the dream, the draft made the sensitive skin prickle, longing for touch and warmth and I eagerly waited for the inevitable contact with either his lips or his hands. Considering that this wasn’t an erotically induced fantasy of mine, it was most likely to be his hands but nonetheless I felt anticipation tingle inside me at the thought of him touching me.

But it never came.

When a few seconds had passed I called his name, first as Doctor Holmes, and when that didn’t result in a reply, simply as Sherlock.

But still no reply and no hands touching me either. 

Frowning I tried to picture what he might be up to and where, in position to me, he was actually standing, when I suddenly heard the sound of an engine springing to life from somewhere in the room. 

Quickly I ripped off the scarf, just in time to see a car heading for the entrance at full speed. When it reached the key card pad a slim hand reached out through the window, quickly swiping the card so the door opened.

Alarmed, I started into motion but immediately fell, face first down on the floor. The trousers and pants down my ankles had immobilised me temporarily, enough for him to be able to escape while I struggled with my clothes and trying to get to my feet. I felt with my hand to the left side pocket where my key card had been, but it was gone of course.

“Wait!” I yelled but as soon as the door was sufficiently opened, he accelerated. The last thing I heard was him calling back to me:

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you!”

Then he was gone and panic hit me like a sledgehammer. 

That was the state I found myself in when another door suddenly opened behind me, steps quickly approaching towards my slumped form.

I looked up, meeting the angry face of Sebastian Moran and felt like an abyss was opening up beneath me. 

I was doomed now.


	15. Furious heart turning cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John feels betrayed and angry by Sherlock's actions. Then there is Moriarty's fury to consider as well.

“Where is he?!”

Sebastian yanked me by the arm and I pointed towards the empty spot where the car had been, merely minutes ago. Understanding dawned on him and quickly he started running towards one of the other cars, while putting his mobile to his ear, making a frantic call.

“He’s stolen a car, has he reached the gates yet?” I could hear him yell.” Damn it! Did no one try to take a look at the driver?? Yes, yes, I get it, he had the card. But if he disappears for good it will be all our heads on the chopping block! Not only the idiot who let him escape in the first place.” 

Before stepping into his car, he turned towards me.

“Go up to your room, quickly! Don’t talk to anyone, pretend like everything is normal.”

And with that he drove off, tires screeching.

This was a disaster of full-blown proportions. Moriarty was likely going to skin me alive when he found out, not only that his precious prisoner had managed to escape but the reason for why that was made possible. 

I started to sweat but at the same time I began to try wrapping my head around the situation.   
I needed to come up with something or my life really was going to end after this.   
I had seen enough glimpses of Moriarty’s insanity and had no wish to stand on the receiving end of it. Not only had I tried to get it off with the one person he was absolutely obsessed with, I had also let that person escape his clutches while being manipulated into thinking that I was going to get intimate with him, standing like a fool with my trousers pulled down, blinded by a stupid scarf! 

The fact that I felt utterly betrayed wasn’t even number one on my list of what I was feeling at the moment, I was utterly petrified.   
It was one thing being cocky, like earlier, when I had tried balancing on the border of danger by simply imagining kissing Sherlock and maybe get a reprimand for it, this was completely different, more likely ending with me getting killed.

Slowly I dusted off my knees and started to look around for a way to get myself back to the house.   
But what was I going to say when I got there?   
That Sherlock had seduced me so thoroughly that I had let my guard down and managed to be outwitted? That the most important person in the whole house was now a fugitive with a car and the mind of a genius? 

As I hadn’t my key card with me anymore, I was forced to turn to the surveillance camera gesturing for someone, anyone but preferably not Moriarty, to come and get me out of here.   
Almost five minutes later an anonymous guard appeared at the door Sebastian had come through, silently letting me out. I wondered if he knew what had happened, if Sebastian had ordered him to stay quiet or if he was going to go straight to his boss and tell him that he had found me locked up inside the garage?

When I came back to the house I went straight to my room, dropping heavily down on my bed, burying my head in my pillow. 

What followed where the most angst-ridden hours of my life. Every sound I heard outside my room had me expecting Moriarty to rush in and punish me for negligence, but no one came.   
Eventually I fell asleep, exhausted from the tension of not knowing what was going to happen. A part of me hoped that Sherlock had managed his escape, the other part wanted to rip him to shreds for leaving me here. How long would I be able to pretend that I didn’t know where he was?   
What if Moriarty came looking for him? And Sebastian, where was he? Had he also made a run for it when realising that the prisoner was gone and all that remained for all of us was Moriarty’s vengeful wrath? 

I managed a short fretful sleep, abruptly woken by someone shaking my arm violently.

“Wake up!”

I blinked, looking up into Sebastian’s tense face, as he was standing over me where I was spread out over the bed, clothes still on.   
When recognising who it was, I calmed down, only to immediately jolt into action again, rising from my position.

“What happened?”

“I got him. Luckily he hadn’t stolen one of the fastest cars, but it was a close call, he was already half-way to London by the time I intercepted him. I had to call in a favour from a few people nearby, creating road blocks, forcing him to eventually give up. For a second I thought that he was going to kill himself ploughing through the woods in an effort to get away from me, but I guess there are limits even to his type of madness. “  
I drew my hand over my face, trying to figure out what I was feeling when hearing this. But I was too exhausted to be able to farm any rational thoughts at the moment, anger was beginning to simmer beneath the surface. A far as I knew I wasn’t off the hook by any means but I couldn’t help but feel some relief.   
I knew it was selfish but right now I didn’t care.

"How did he get his hands on the car? There wasn't enough time to hotwire one."

"Don't know. But he's a pickpocket that one, could have been from anyone at anytime."

I thought about my own missing set of keys and wondered if that had been one of his tricks as well, stealing them from me already at the beginning, making me believe they had been retrieved by someone else. The key card must have been much more difficult to take supposedly or he would have stolen that as well, but I chose not to voice that thought, instead I asked:

“What happens now? Where is he?” 

“In my room. It was easiest to get him there, no reason to parade him though the house, always a risk of getting caught. You and I are going to have a talk, Doctor, but first I have to sort this out with him. And you’re going to help me.”

With that he gestured me to come with him and quietly we left my room, heading down the stairs and then over to the far left wing of the house where Sebastian supposedly had his room. 

“Where’s Moriarty?” I couldn’t help asking, looking around the place apprehensively as we went through the house, passing several potential doors where he could be. 

“Thankfully not here. He left after dinner, some meeting in town. But he’ll be back soon enough, so we have to do this quickly.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dense with me. You knew something like this couldn't go unpunished. You were warned of this, that he might try every trick in the book, seems he did a real number on you.”

I clenched my fists in irritation. He was right of course, I had been so gullible and had eaten everything Sherlock threw in my way like a stupid dog, just for the chance of some love and intimacy. Now that the initial shock had started to vane, it was being replaced by hurt and anger instead. I had always had a hot temper but had been forced to learn how to control it and it had been a long time since I had last erupted in anger, but now I was beginning to feel the warning signs of a serious blow-up.

Sebastian produced a key and unlocked the door into his room as I was trying but failing to keep my cool. 

As soon as I saw him I rushed over to where he was sitting and punched him hard in the face. The first blow produced an alarming sound of crushed cartilage and his nose immediately started to bleed, but that did not discourage me as I produced another two blows in quick succession to his face before stepping back, breathing harshly, feeling the pain radiate through my knuckles. Those cheekbones were sharp. 

He had stumbled backwards from the force, the chair he was sitting on tumbling over, crashing to the ground along with him, but he had not tried to protect himself or retaliate. He just took the blows, stoically, blood pouring down his face now, bruises would soon begin to bloom.

“You idiot! Not the face!” Sebastian hissed and pushed me out of his way. “How are you going to explain that? Never the face, that’s the most important rule. Except don’t kill him of course.”

With that he stepped up and took his turn, throwing punches and a few kicks to the side of Sherlocks body, careful to avoid any vital organs but still making sure that there was enough force behind his blows.   
Sherlock still didn’t say anything and he didn’t really shy away from the assault either, he simply took it but succumbed to the actual pain by falling down on his knees, and after a hard blow to the stomach bended over in pain, ending up fully lying on the floor.

It was over in a couple of seconds, then Sebastian turned away from him, grabbed me by the arm and pushed me out of the room before locking the door once again.

The last I saw of Sherlock before the door closed was his crumbled form on the floor, blood running in a steady pace down his face, on his collar and front of the shirt. The sight had a sobering effect on my temper and as my anger hastily retreated, worry and regret started to seep in, replacing the former fury.

“Are you just gonna to leave him like that in there?”

“Too late to play a concerned doctor now. You and I are going to have a chat before the boss arrives, that’s all you need to care about.”

I tried protesting but he wasn’t having it anymore.

“ _Now!_ If we don’t sort this out before he gets back, it’ll be too late. Holmes isn’t dying in there, he just got punched. However much I would have liked to harm him I can’t present him to Moriarty, arriving in a body bag. That may well happen one day anyhow, but for now that’s not an option.”

He lead the way to one of the bathrooms where he turned on the tap, letting water run over his hands first, then indicating that I do the same.   
I saw the blood swirling down the drain and felt a lump of guilt manifesting itself even firmer in my throat. Sure, he had tried to escape, leaving me behind, but on the other hand, of course he would want to escape a place where an obsessed madman had him under constant surveillance, harbouring whatever dark plans his mind would conjure and Sherlock had after all not any kinds of obligations towards a stranger he hardly knew. He had detected that the, in his eyes probably, pervy doctor had the hots for him and made a try at breaking out.   
It had hurt me that he had left so easily, but was it really that surprising? 

The more logic came back into my thought process the more ashamed I felt. I had not only punched him rather forcefully, I had also let Sebastian assault him with even more violence. Sebastian was a former military man, he would know how to injure without leaving visible traces. I on the other hand had let my emotions take control and hauled punishment straight to the most visible feature imaginable. 

When I had finished cleaning my hands and turned off the water I faced Sebastian who was standing against the door, arms crossed over his chest, inspecting me.  
He was angry but it seemed like he could keep it under control for now. He probably had a lot of other things to consider right now.

“So, exactly what happened here? How did he end up with a car and a key card, making it all the way out the gates and half-way to freedom before we caught up with him? And you better give the full version, no side stepping, no lying, just the simple truth. If not I’ll feed you directly to Moriarty when he gets back.”

“He will hurt you too!"

“Yes, but I got Holmes back. You simply got him out, there are no redeeming features to that scenario. Come on, spill it!”

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I felt embarrassed and betrayed and regretful at the same time, I had wished to just go back to bed and sleep my worries away, forgetting the night had ever happened. But no such options of course and slowly I surrendered to the fact that I would have to tell him everything.

So I told him about the flirting, or what I had perceived as flirting, Sherlock telling me about the garage being a safe place to talk on account of there being no sound on the surveillance camera, the walk through the garden, what happened when we finally made it inside the garage, the scarf, trousers and the pants and him taking the car and my key card while I was otherwise engaged, thinking we were going to get intimate.

Sebastian snorted as I finally finished off with Sherlock telling me how he would come for me before speeding off in his car.

“This is even worse than I could have guessed. We _told_ you that he is all about the tricks and lies! This is what he does, manipulates his way to get what he wants. That’s how he ended up in here for God’s sake!” 

The way he said it I felt that he was probably right. I didn’t even know Sherlock Holmes, I had hardly spoken with him before today and yet I had blindly done whatever he had told me to do, just for the sake of me being a lonely man longing for a warm body and some tenderness.   
_Pathetic._

“Even if we managed to get him back, we still have a problem thanks to you. As you hit him in the face, that’s going to show. Moriarty is likely to want to see him tomorrow already. He’s like a kid with a new toy, it’s all he wants to play with. If Holmes is lucky he will have his bed to himself for a little while longer, but eventually, who knows?”

I couldn’t help but whip my head around to look at him, narrowing my eyes.

“Whoa, easy there. A bit jealous or we?” Sebastian gloated but there was a hint of irritation in there too. It was probably driving him mad that everyone seemed so bloody fascinated with Sherlock bloody Holmes. “Focus on the task, not on who’s going to shag who in this house. You better believe it won’t be you at least, he showed you quite clearly how he felt about it earlier this evening, didn’t he?”

“What is it you want me to do?” I growled.

“I might actually have a plan. We stay as close to the truth as we can without actually revealing too much, just cutting out the part about him managing to escape. We tell Moriarty that Holmes made a run for it and that you caught him and had to resort to physical pain to prevent him. The plus side being that Moriarty might even punish him for trying.”

“And what if he reveals the truth? If he’s going to get into trouble anyway, he might as well tell the truth.”

“He has nothing to gain from that. “

“Vengeance for being beat up by us?”

Sebastian made a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

“Holmes knows both martial arts, fencing and boxing, went to one of those fancy public schools and took every lesson he could get. If he had wanted to fight back he would have. He took it because he wanted to, probably didn’t care either. You’ve got to start learning what he’s like or he will end up getting you both into trouble again.”

We went over the details about exactly what it was that had happened during the evening, removing all details about the flirting, the actual escape and Sebastian’s part in anything. 

After that I was told to go to my room and await further instructions, a meeting with Moriarty or Holmes return to the room next to mine, whatever came first. 

“Why can’t we get him up there straight away? Won’t it seem strange if he's in _your_ room when Moriarty arrives?” I protested.

“Oh, I’ll get him up there. I just have some unfinished business to talk to him about first. I have to make him understand that tricks like what he played tonight won’t be allowed from now on.”

I gave him a sceptical look and he huffed, amused.

“Don’t look so worried, I’m not going to hit him again, I’m just going to make my point clear.”

With that he waved me off and went back to his room, locking the door after him while I went back to my room. 

I stayed up for the next hour and could both hear the sound of Sebastian’s heavy feet in the stairs, taking Sherlock back to his room, and half an hour later I could see a car arriving along the road leading up to the house, presumably Moriarty returning from his meeting. 

By peeking through my door I could se Sebastian carrying an unconscious Sherlock in his arms, the curly head bobbing over one of the muscled arms, making him look like a rag doll, and by glancing through the window I saw what presumably was Moriarty’s car making it’s way back home.   
I felt like a spectator now, not really participating in the events any longer. I would play my part if Moriarty asked what had happened, but from now on, I would make no further attempts connecting with Sherlock Holmes except for work.


	16. Closing doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Sherlock's point of view, a one-off to see what's going on in his head during the events after the failed escape attempt.

His head was throbbing and the pain in his abdomen made him wonder if something was actually broken.   
Moran would probably not be so careless, the man was ex-military after all and knew what he was doing, but on the other hand, he hated Sherlock with a vengeance and nothing could cloud the judgement of someone as easily as the involvements of emotions. That doctor fellow, Watson, or _John_ , as he preferred it, was living proof of that. Not to mention Moriarty. And Magnussen of course. 

Sherlock tried stretching where he was lying on the bed but the pain was too severe, it simply wasn’t worth the effort and hassle, he had to stick it out and try getting some pain relief eventually.   
It would probably prove to be more difficult now, the doctor had been absolutely livid and delivered some well-aimed punches to his face.   
Sure, he probably put some pride into his occupational title as a doctor but on the other hand he seemed like a very stubborn person, he would not be easily tricked and used again, not even into something as easy as administering some effective pain medicine. 

_Morphine,_ that would have been nice right now he mused longingly.   
A bad mistake considering the detoxification he had just gone through, but still, Morphine had, next to Cocaine, been a true and reliant friend since his late teens, when he had suffered from a dog bite and been bedridden for over a week.   
The Morphine and the owner of the dog had brought him sweet bliss back then, but in the end only the Morphine had remained a true friend.   
On the other hand the incident had also learnt him the very useful lesson of never trusting anyone, however much love and lust they had in their eyes. He had never made the same mistake again. 

He sighed as his fingers gently prodded his cheek, he was going to look hideous for the next couple of days.   
He wondered what sort of excuse they would come up with to explain his damages to Moriarty.   
Probably some edited version of the truth, it would be easier for them to at least keep as close to actual events as possible, that doctor gave the impression of being a really terrible liar, far too trusting and starry-eyed for his own good. A few suggestive moves and the promise of intimacy and he had been like putty in Sherlock’s hands. 

He felt a nagging thought disturbing his concentration when he thought of the man. 

He had been meaning to come back for him of course, but unsure of just how involved he was with Moriarty, Sherlock wasn’t going to take any chances by trying to include him in his plans straight away.   
He seemed like a capable sort of man, far from stupid, entertaining in a way Sherlock seldom found others to be, but he had also some other sides to him, something dark and uncertain and Sherlock simply didn’t have the time to suss him out.   
He also had the obvious weakness of showing his interest like an open book for everyone to see. Moriarty had teased him about it already during that fatal dinner party, partly to show off his observational skills but more likely to play with Magnussen who was very possessive and immediately raised his hackles towards the doctor. 

_Stupid, all of them_. 

And yet, the nagging remained, like he had done something wrong and he couldn't understand why he cared.   
The plan had back-fired, not of any fault made by him really, Moran was simply too fast, had a better car and acted immediately. Sherlock wished that he had been able to call Mycroft, tell him everything, that the mission was no longer on and that it had turned into real kidnapping drama, except no one was trying to go for financial exchange for his freedom.   
But as he had no cell phone available he was simply to remain here until Moriarty either tired of him or had him moved somewhere else.

He wondered how long Mycroft could keep Magnussen distracted by their made-up kidnapping story.   
He knew cases existed where it would take a long time to come to a conclusion or even for the kidnappers to reach out to family members, but those cases were rare and Magnussen was not a person likely to just sit around waiting to be contacted, he had the money and contacts to get whatever he wanted when he wanted it, as well as an almost pathological possessiveness of his belongings and Sherlock made no illusion of being just that. 

Mycroft would have to work really hard to keep him distracted. 

Sherlock wished that he had thought of a contingency plan before entering Moriarty’s house, he even had a hazy memory of Mycroft mentioning the use of such a plan but as usual he had waved it off as overprotective nonsense. In hindsight it had probably been a mix of too grandiose thinking of his own abilities and his cocaine habit, he could at least acknowledge that being a huge part of his downfall, but no use pondering what might have been, the only serviceable use of his brain right now was the problem he was in at the moment and what his next actions should be. 

As this plan had failed he had to come up with a new plan and, as was his experience, people who showed their true feelings openly, displayed a weakness ready to be abused. The doctor had presented a very lucky aid in that area, but that option was out of the question now, he would be lucky if was even helped with treating his injuries after his actions. 

So remaing were the other two in the house.

Moriarty had a very obvious weakness, his obsession with Sherlock and also the fact that he was most likely insane. That could unfortunately also prove to be problematic and a far too unreliable factor to build a plan upon. Despite his erratic behaviour he was at the same time impressively clever, he would most likely see through any games Sherlock would attempt playing with him. 

On the other hand, he was just a human. Like everyone else, he had his fallibilities as well and he was almost just as jealous as Magnussen, not liking when others took liberties with what he considered to be his playthings. 

Moran had the opposite stand point, not liking his boss's obsessiveness with something as trivial as an arch enemy.   
He probably wished for Moriarty to be done with this, put a bullet through Sherlock's head and move on.   
He resented Sherlock for making Moriarty take the more complicated and unnecessary route of keeping a cherished pet looked up in his house. It served no other useful purpose than to stroke his ego, having his favourite consultant detective at his beck and call, to do more or less what he wanted with. 

Sherlock could still se the glint of possessive rage when Moriarty had lashed out with that riding crop. Just because Sherlock had wounded his pride by not succumbing to him, scratching his cheek instead, when the other man had leaned in for a kiss. 

Maybe Moran would be his key out of here instead? Sow some mistrust in Moriarty’s ear about his most trustful employee. 

He would have to think of a way to go about it though without rising suspicions. 

Contemplating his next move he closed his eyes, sinking deeper into his though process, finally capitulating to his body’s need for rest by falling asleep, blood on the shirt, bruises blossoming and the abdominal pain slowly throbbing away inside of him but slowly receding to a not so distracting discomfort as his body surrendered to slumber.

He woke several hours later by a distracting sensation to his forehead.   
As he slowly opened his eyes he was met by Moriarty’s face a few inches away from his own. He managed to supress the urge to flinch away, just calmly staring back evenly, when all the other sensations slowly came back to his awareness, the pain again reminding him of his dire need of pain relief and the stiffness of his body making for a willingness to stretch out but not being able to as Moriarty was sitting so close to him that he made that movement impossible without actually touching him. Sherlock wasn’t especially eager to come in more bodily contact with the man than necessary. 

“Ooo, sleeping beauty’s finally waking up!” Moriarty crooned in his specific Irish lilt and this time Sherlock was unable to supress a shudder. He was suddenly too tired of this game and almost wished Moriarty would be done with it, killing him already.   
But it wouldn’t be that easy.   
It would be a long, complicated process lined with humiliation and most likely pain before they would get there. 

Instead of bothering to reply he remained silent, knowing that being ignored was something Moriarty absolutely despised. The man demanded attention all the time and specifically that of Sherlock’s, signalling at all hours to be both seen and heard. 

When he didn’t reply Moriarty leaned even closer.

“Well. Beauty is a bit rich at the moment, I’ll admit. Doctor Watson apparently did a real number on you, you must have really ruffled his feathers if you managed to anger him enough to punch you straight in the face. “

He reached out a hand, seemingly contemplating to touch Sherlock’s face but then changed his mind. Maybe he remembered how the other man had lashed out at him the last time he tried for a sign of intimacy. 

“I must say, I’m not that happy that he went for the face. Seems almost criminal trying to ruin those delicate features of yours. But as he was actually doing his job, preventing you from being a very _naughty boy_ , I guess I have to forgive him. Sebastian will have to teach him to aim for something more hidden next time, something not visible when looking at you. If you will be stupid enough to try escaping again, that is.”

He leaned back again, out of reach and folded his hands over one of his bent knees, still looking at Sherlock.

“Could have sworn you had him by the short and curlies, they way he always looked like he saw a vision when in your presence, but that jus shows you can’t always judge someone by how they present themselves. A valuable lesson that. Or did you actually do something to change his opinion of you? Spur his advances perhaps?”

There was suddenly an undercurrent of threat to his voice and Sherlock recognised the jealousy simmering beneath the surface. In that particular aspect he was like Magnussen, a stupid emotion they couldn’t suppress. 

Interesting and very useful if Sherlock was going to try to tear apart the trust between his two most powerful jailers and expose their weaknesses enough to be able to spot a way out of this house.

When not receiving an answer Moriarty smoothed out his features, moving on.

“I have invited a guest over for lunch today. Someone close to you. This is mostly out of entertainment value and not a necessity, but it might also drive home the point of your stupid plan having failed, that no one will come for you. Especially not after this.”

Moriarty finally rose, but remained lingering by the side of the bed, looking down at his prisoner.

“I think I will invite Doctor Watson along as well. He did good last night, stopping you while I was out of the house, Moran even said a few punches was all it took to hinder your escape. But I might just as well clarify the reality of this situation to him as well, preventing him from getting any ideas in the future.”

With that he walked over to the door. But before opening it, he put his hand in his pocket, searching for something.   
Producing a small blister pack of tablets, he threw them on the bed, in front of Sherlock.   
Ibuprofen. How dull and utterly useless...

“He said to give you these and to not even think of breaking into his medicine cabinet. You know, I kind of like it when he’s being pushy. Maybe you should provoke his anger more often? On the other hand, he’s quite cruel with the pain relief and those look like some nasty wounds there on your face. Might not be worth the pain in the end.”

With that he opened the door and was gone.

Sherlock took the tablets, swallowed them as they were, without water and slumped back on the bed. No use to do anything before lunch anyway. 

He wondered who the guest would be but had a suspicion that he already knew.

Around noon two guards from the gang who patrolled the premises came to fetch him.   
But instead of taking him straight to the dining room they took him to the room next to it, opened up second door on the other side of the room and shoved him inside a small almost alcove-like space with a huge slightly tinted window and a chair in front of it. Brusquely they planted him in the chair, produced a pair of handcuffs, chaining him to it and then left again, without a word.

He sat there for almost a full thirty minutes, staring through the window that faced the dining room and it’s set table.   
The room was empty and he suspected that the guest hadn’t arrived yet. 

He remembered the huge mirror hanging on one of the walls from the evening of the dinner party, suspecting it already back then, but now confirming his suspicions of it being like one of those mirrors the police used in interrogation rooms, where the people in the room only saw their own reflection but the people behind it were looking through it as if through a window, being able to see and hear everything.

If the guest was Mycroft he would immediately spot it, but Sherlock suspected that it would actually be someone else. Assuredly smart as well but in a state where both judgement and senses would be dulled by recent events. Bringing Mycroft here would be suicide, even for someone like Moriarty, therefore it was most likely the other person he had in mind.

His suspicions were confirmed when the clock on the opposite wall became half past twelve and the doors opened, revealing the lunch party.

Behind Moriarty who was the first to enter, came Charles Magnussen, and behind him, a few steps behind, John Watson and after him Moran.   
Moriarty had that slightly manic air to him, trying to look serious but doing a bad job of it, mirth dancing in his eyes.   
Luckily for him, Charles could only see his back.

Charles Magnussen had always had a cold air to him. As a Scandinavian he was already disposed of showing any overt emotional outburst, but Sherlock had still been on the receiving end of a few rare signs of sentiment. 

Magnussen was a collector in nature and Sherlock was one in a kind, both regarding looks and temperament, eccentricities and all.   
He had treasured Sherlock the way one treasures something truly rare in one’s possession and he had shown sadistic streaks of wanting to both break him to pieces and preserve Sherlock just as he was.   
No one else was allowed to go near what he perceived as his property and despite seeing this personality trait from the beginning, Sherlock was still struck by the sheer force of it when entering into a relationship with the man.   
He had known that a lot would be required of him, possibly even sex with the man, when going down that particular road but the prize, being able to take down both Magnussen and Moriarty in a single blow was too tempting. 

Mycroft had berated him of course, saying it was all stupidity and surely there had to be other ways, but Sherlock had been childishly excited by his own scheming and gone ahead with it anyway.   
In the beginning Mycroft had supported his actions, at least when it came to Magnussen. The man was ruthless and repugnant but at least not dangerous in any physical sense and Mycroft was even the one who had helped him put himself in Magnussen’s way, catching his attention by arranging a spontaneous bump-in at an event. It was one of those posh black tie things Mycroft attended on a regular basis and Sherlock never went to, but made the exception this once, pulling out just the right amount of charm and glamour to catch the Danish media mogul’ curiosity. 

After that it had been easy. The engagement followed soon after, Sherlock knowing it would catch Moriarty’s attention and anger the hell out of the man.   
Then everything had just snowballed even faster, rings being put on fingers, dates booked for an eventual ceremony, making Sherlock speeding up the progress of his plan. He wasn’t after all actually going to marry the man. It was difficult enough making him settle for kisses and chaste intimate favours without actually stepping over the line into downright sexual exchanges.   
He stole the idea straight out the text book of Anne Boleyn, promises and encouragement without actually giving away a single carnal interaction, always just hinting and teasing, never giving so much as a crumb.

Whatever Charles Magnussen thought of Sherlock when it came to actual love, he was at least broken enough to look like a shadow of himself when he stepped inside the dining room. 

Mycroft had been far less supportive when it came to taking down Moriarty.   
Then man was much more dangerous and unaccountable, but by then Sherlock had been in too deep, not being able to satisfy himself with only bringing down Magnussen when he had the opportunity to take down Moriarty as well.   
With the aid of Cocaine he had gotten through long evenings in the company of Magnussen and that substance abuse had also empowered him in his further plans to take down Moriarty. In hindsight it all seemed stupid and not fully thought through. 

Charles looked a bit ashen and terse now, a slight darkness beneath his eyes, probably from lack of sleep.   
If Sherlock didn’t know why, he would have almost been touched. As it was now, the man most probably suffered from loosing a valuable one of a kind possession, not so much a person he truly cherished. Sure, he lusted after Sherlock and wanted him by his side, a greedy hand holding his, but what Moriarty felt for him was probably a thousand times more intense and obsessive. 

Sherlock studied John as he came in after Magnussen.   
He looked grim and angry, probably not eager to participate in this lunch date at all, but most likely Moriarty hadn’t given him an option. At least he managed to convey his feelings about his reluctance, probably just to making the whole ordeal more endurable for himself. 

Moran who came last looked like he always did, stoic and quiet, not conveying one single emotion. _We’ll see about that_ , Sherlock thought as they all settled down around the table to begin lunch, or more likely act out the message Moriarty had prepared for him with the aid of at least two unsuspecting participants. At least he hoped the John was unsuspecting, but who knew after all?   
Better to act with the belief that everyone had an agenda coinciding with Moriarty. _Alone protects me._

“What is that you wanted to see me about, Mr Moriarty?” Charles said as he had seated himself.

“Oh, I have been thinking about you, Mr Magnussen, ever since that fatal evening. How is the situation coming along, anyway? Any leads? Mycroft Holmes and his people finding any clues?”

Charles seemed reluctant to answer at first. He never was a man who put anything out on display concerning his personal life. Sherlock had been forced to dig deep to be able to see the crack beneath the surface.

“No leads I’m afraid. Not a trace of the bodyguard either.”

A servant came in with the food and there was a natural pause while everyone helped themselves. Despite the fact that no one could see him Sherlock couldn’t help but do a number on how tedious he was finding the whole situation.   
This was just one of Moriarty’s stupid game, why was everyone always just tagging along to his antics? It was tiresome.

While Moriarty ate with relish, the man certainly seemed to be someone who enjoyed the finer things in life,(he and Mycroft would have so much to talk about) Charles and John didn’t really touch their plates. Instead they glared at each other and finally Charles turned in Moriarty’s direction, indicating with a raised eyebrow at John’s presence at the table without actually saying anything.

“Oh, we’re not a large household here and a doctor is after all still a doctor, I allow his presence at my table.”

“Did they question him like I told them to?”

Before Moriarty had a chance to respond John's fist hit the table in a loud thump, making the glass in front of him rattle against the surface.

“Why would I have anything to do with your fiancé’s disappearance? That’s a bloody insulting assumption!”

John was working himself up in a state already.   
Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk. There was something refreshing about him. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what that was, but he had to admit that he had felt a little spark both in the examination room when he had taken his shirt off, and then later, while they were walking in the garden, before heading for the garage.   
He had been surprisingly pleasant to talk to, and as Sherlock had assessed earlier, the man wasn’t a complete idiot. 

Still not worthy of Sherlock’s full trust, no one ever was, but he almost wished that he did have someone he could confide in.   
This “Alone protects me”-business was all good and well when it came to not opening up to vulnerability, but it was also a bit lonely sometimes. He had generally always been lonely, with a few painful exceptions, in the end proving to him the necessity of being just that, alone.   
Mycroft had hammered in that message as long as he could remember and any efforts trying to connect with someone had always ended badly.   
But still…

Back inside the dining room insults were being thrown over the table now, Magnussen using his most glacial expressions clashing against John’s fiery retorts. Moriarty was clearly enjoying it and Sherlock couldn’t help but feel a twitch in his own corner of the mouth. John (when did he become simply John and not Doctor Watson?) managed Charles accusation quite well where many others would feel intimidated. 

Finally Moriarty stepped in, putting an end to it.

“As I’ve told you before, Mr Magnussen, we will help in every way we can and it must be a very trying time for you. Young Sherlock being such a treasure and all, his presence must be truly missed. And of course MI5 questioned the doctor, quite thoroughly I believe, but I assure you, no one here knows what happened.”

He took a sip of his wine, making a show of contemplating his next words carefully. Then, as if deciding that what he had on his mind needed to be said, he cleared his throat and spoke quietly.

“As I have been informed and actually experienced myself, Sherlock Holmes is a rather….how should I put it, _dramatically disposed_ young man. I know this may seem a bit…” he hesitated and Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes. Such over-acting!

When nothing more came forth Charles finally picked up the dropped ball, as expected.

“What are you saying exactly?”

“Nothing really! And I’m most likely out on a limb here but, well, like I said, he is rather full of unorthodox ideas and eccentricities. If I am to believe what you have told me there has been no ransom note, no contact from the kidnappers, no trace of the bodyguard and so forth. How do we even know that it is a kidnapping we are dealing with?”

John frowned while looking at Moriarty and Charles looked absolutely gob-smacked. It was the most human Sherlock had ever seen him and that was saying a lot considering that he had had to endure the cringeworthy engagement proposal from the man.

Then, for a fleeting second, almost not noticeable but still enough for Sherlock to see, as he was looking for it, the small seed of doubt was being planted, a new assessment of events running through his head and Moriarty’s words sinking in.

“Why would he do that?” Charles finally said evenly. “His brother has helped me with everything at his disposal and…”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he stopped, as if for the first seeing what that actually could mean. Silently he closed his mouth again.

“I’m not saying that this is actually the case, but you must admit that it does seem strange. And well,...Mycroft Holmes working this long on something without coming up with a single clue, that is simply not likely. I’m no fan of the man myself, but he is probably the most efficient man in the whole country. And this is his younger brother we’re talking about. You know as well as I do that he is his one pressure point.”

Anger flashed over Charles features now and Sherlock leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad outcome. In the end he hadn’t relied on Charles finding him, especially as he was looking for clues in the completely wrong direction, but it was disheartening to feel like yet another door to eventual freedom was closing. 

He could see that jealousy was already clouding Charles judgement, he probably suspected Sherlock of having eloped with the bodyguard or some such nonsense. 

Moriarty had most likely tried going for another answer but in the end it didn’t matter why Charles thought that his fiancé had tricked him, it was the fact that he _had_ done it that was significant. 

Indignantly Charles rose from the table, addressing Moriarty.

“So, you brought me here to humiliate me of the fact that I have wasted both money and time on a search that is most probably something completely different? A hoax of some sort? With that bodyguard most likely!”

Moriarty held up his hands, trying to placate his guest.

“No, no ,no, you misunderstand Mr Magnussen. This was simply a way of trying to ease your difficult pain at having lost him, believe me, I understand it, he’s really one of a kind…”

Charles narrowed his eyes as Sherlock tried burying his face in his hands but failing on account of the handcuffs.   
This was Moriarty driving in the final nail in the coffin, rubbing in the loss of Charles precious possession, making his anger flare up even further. 

“As future business partners I’m inclined to make sure that you don’t suffer more than necessary. Like I said, I have no proof of my meagre thoughts, but admit it, it all reeks a little too much for comfort. If you want me to put out a word for the bodyguard just say the word and I will. Mycroft Holmes might have MI5 at his disposal but if he’s sending his men on a merry chase in the wrong direction I can assure you that I have at least as competent men, ready to search more likely places for that untrusty bodyguard of yours.”

Moran and John had merely watched the exchange without participating. Moran was most likely in on it and John looked like he didn’t know what to believe but also understanding that a way of being helped out of here was being pulled away with every passing word.   
But just like Sherlock he seemed more perplexed than actually disillusioned, he probably never expected Magnussen to find them and get them out of here. That thought was quite refreshing and Sherlock was again hit by the sensible nature of the doctor, almost wishing that he hadn’t burnt his bridges with him.

“If you would be so kind, please do so. I’m going to return back to London and have a word with Mycroft Holmes about…”

“No, please hold that thought for a moment. Wouldn’t it be better if he didn’t know that we have caught onto the truth? If he knows what we suspect he’s likely to warn his brother. Better to keep up the charade for a little while longer.”

He turned towards John and Moran.

“If we could be given a little privacy. Take Doctor Watson with you, Moran.”

As the other men had left the room Moriarty stepped up to Charles who eyed him suspiciously. Moriarty was turned so he faced towards the mirror while Charles moved so his back was against it, making it impossible for Sherlock to see his features.

“We have had our differences over the years and I know that you know how I feel about Sherlock. I can’t even begin to image the loss of having had him and then simply one day he’s gone. But if it turns out that he has done this himself I would gladly aide you avenging the wrongness brought upon you.”

Moriarty was staring into the mirror now, eerily meeting Sherlock’s gaze as if he knew exactly where Sherlock was seated behind the surface. Probability dictated that he surely did.

“Find the bodyguard and hand him to me, then everything you and I talked about but never officiated that night at the dinner party will be sealed.” Magnussen said before heading for the door. 

Moriarty remained in the room, still looking into the mirror. A small grin crept onto his lips and before turning to follow Mgnussen out of the room he mouthed two words in Sherlock’s direction.

“You lose.”


	17. Taking charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enough with the games now. John makes a decision and ends up feeling both better about it and seeing a way out of his situation.

After dinner with Magnussen I was accompanied out of the room by Sebastian. Out of ear shot I turned to him.

“What the hell is he playing at?”

“What does it look like? He’s cutting off another life line to Holmes. We’ll be moving along soon enough, leave this place and set up residence somewhere else. Then Mycroft Holmes won’t have a clue either.”

He gave me one of his lopsided grins, clapping me on the shoulder.

“By the way, you did a great job with the boss earlier. Very convincing. He didn’t really like that you went for the face but other than that, it worked. Have you seen him today? Holmes? Does he need some kind of looking after?”

I shook my head, irritated.

“I sent some Ibuprofen along with Moriarty, that’s all.”

“Not in a happy place, you two? That’s just as well. Now you know how he operates, better stay away from all that. But you should take a look at those wounds he got on the body, wouldn’t want to tip off the boss that there is more than what he’s been shown. “

“Fine” I gritted through my teeth, reluctantly going away, looking for Sherlock. 

I hadn’t seen him since Sebastian had carried him up the stairs to his room late last night, like a limp rag doll in the muscly ex-military’s arm.  
I wasn’t especially eager to see him either, the fact that he had tricked me still smarted and the added fact that he had made me lose my temper enough to hit him made it even worse.  
Sure, he deserved it, but still, I prided myself with not losing my temper like that very often anymore, but he had brought out the most primitive side of me. 

I knocked firmly on his door and when there was no reply I opened it to step inside anyway.  
The room was empty and for a second I felt the strange impulse that he had perhaps escaped once again.  
But then I calmed myself. Of course he hadn’t made a run for it. How would he even accomplish that? He had probably been hidden away somewhere as long as Magnussen was still here. 

I decided to wait for him, taking the opportunity to get a look at his new accommodations.  
It was far better than the small cramped room behind the bookshelf. Larger bed, more space, a closet that offered a neat row of nice-looking clothes in expensive fabrics. Moriarty had obviously splashed out on account of his guest/prisoner/whatever Sherlock was to him. 

I let my hand run along one of the shirts, an aubergine-coloured one, imagining how good it would look against his fair skin and those dark curls. However angry and disappointed I was with him, a small part of my brain still couldn’t shut off those more primal urges I felt when thinking about him.  
Instinct was still instinct after all, however unwelcome. 

If I could have my way with him, I wound bend him over the small desk in front of the window, dressed only in that silky purple shirt, and give him a good spanking. Moriarty hadn't been too far off with that riding crop, even if I wouldn't use it quite like he had. That sort of thing required technique and finesse. The sharp whiplash against the shoulder blades told me that Moriarty clearly didn't know what he was doing, he had let his emotions get the better of him and no one was happy about it afterwards. 

When I turned away from the wardrobe my eyes fell on a heap of clothing, carelessly thrown into a corner.  
It was the shirt he had been wearing yesterday.  
It was blood-stained and I felt a sting of guilt seeing it, but quickly stomped it down. I wasn’t going to go weak again for that bastard, he would just use me again.  
It was after all what everyone had kept telling me, I had seen it myself without understanding, until it happened to me.  
Sherlock Holmes looked out for one person alone, and that was himself, the rest of us were just pawns in a game he was playing with James Moriarty. 

Growling I kicked the shirt in the corner.

“What are you doing to my shirt?”

I spun around, facing the familiar figure standing in the doorway. 

Before I could open my mouth and answer him, he made a quick nod to the ceiling, reminding me that we weren’t alone in a house under constant observation. 

Reigning myself in I simply shrugged and then told him that I had come to check on his wounds.

“Follow me down to the treatment facility and let me take a look,” I said and headed out without checking if he was following me or not.

After examining his face, padding the wounds with some antiseptics and offering him another dose of pain relief for him to take later, I asked if he would consider coming for a walk with me in the garden.  
I could see him raising his eyebrows in slight surprise but as I knew that outside was the only chance I had of talking freely I didn’t have much choice.  
He looked at me, probably reading my intentions in my body language and reluctantly he nodded once.  
When I went for his shirt, trying to see how he looked underneath, with the wounds made by Sebastian, he stepped out of reach, heading for the door.

“I’ll go get my coat, see you by the front door in a few minutes, Doctor Watson.” The formality stung a bit, but he was right of course, there was no Sherlock and John going on anymore. He was a prisoner and I was part of the staff in the house, nothing more. 

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose when he left.  
Despite the fact that he had angered me, I missed the moments we had shared, before the garage incident. That was stupid of course, there weren’t any true shared moments between us, it had all been a ploy and I was going to let him hear it outside. 

But still, for a moment I had felt like we could’ve hit it off. 

We had barely started walking down the path from the house when he sighed and made a fluttering motion with his hand.

“Get on with it, Doctor Watson. What is it you feel you didn’t manage to convey, _quite painfully_ , yesterday evening?”

“If you’re going to get snippy with me I might have to punch some sense into you again!” I snarled and there was an incredulous look crossing his features for a second. I just nodded sternly to confirm that he had heard me correctly.

“That’s right. It’s off with the gloves now, _Mr Holmes._ ”

He sighed and turned his eyes away from me, letting them travel along the approaching garden ahead of us.

“If this is to show me that you’re not just a hapless idiot but actually have a bite, believe me, I get it. And for the record, I never thought you were. A hapless idiot that is.” The last words were offered a bit more quietly, without the sarcasm of the first part of the sentence.  
It was too weak as a way of apologising in my opinion though.

“Well, you could’ve fooled me. Do you understand the danger you put me in by doing what you did?”

He shrugged, which angered me even more.

“Like I said, I was going to come for you! If I had managed to get away, I would’ve gotten my brother to send someone for you, you would’ve been out of here before midnight.”

“But you **didn’t** make it. Just like with your original plan which resulted in you ending up in here, in the clutches of a mad man, this escape plan of yours backfired as well! Are you sure you are as good as you think at this detective business, because so far I haven’t seen much to convince me!”

I could see the hurt in his eyes for the flicker of a second but his facial features showed no emotions, just a stoic expression, like he had braced himself for my onslaught, almost as if experienced with this type of verbal assault from other people.

“It would’ve worked if Moran hadn’t caught on to my plan as quickly as he did. And my car was too slow. Despite that, I did manage to get some distance between us at first, but unfortunately that wasn’t enough to get me out of reach.”

“A lot of “ifs” and “buts” in that sentence.” I replied wryly. 

He stopped and turned to face me, drawing himself up to his full height, glaring now. 

“You feel like I owe you an apology or something for tricking you, but even if I did give you one, it would only be meaningless words. Because I’m **not** sorry! Not in the least! I tried getting out of here instead of just sitting around, waiting for the inevitable, which will be a bullet to the head or something worse, eventually. I saw someone who could help me, a man with a key card to get me access to the garage, and if the method to get me that access was to show some skin and take advantage of your bodily urges, so what? I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I only wanted for us to get out of here! And despite what you think of me now, and that you most likely won’t help me one iota in any future attempts, I won’t leave you here to your own devices when I **do** finally manage to get out. I don’t really understand how you ended up in this mess in the first place, but I know enough to see that you’re not one of Moriarty’s usual henchmen and that’s enough for me. Do with that information what you will, hate me if that’s what you need, give me a punch if that will make you feel better, but do not expect me to apologize, because I won’t!”

He drew a breath after the surge of words coming out of his mouth finally came to an end and he glared at me suspiciously, perhaps waiting for me to erupt.  
But to his surprise, maybe even to my own, I didn’t. 

Instead I returned his glare, letting his words sink in.  
At least he had sounded honest this time. If still a bit childish, like a kid who refuses to say sorry after breaking a window during recess or something similar.  
A man-child, that’s what he was.

“So, you’re planning a new escape then, are you?” I finally said.

“Of course I am! Like I said, I’m not sitting around waiting for my own execution, might as well die trying to escape. Now that he has severed yet another life line by turning Charles against me, I’m in even more need to solve this on my own.”

“How do you know about Magnussen. You weren’t there during lunch?”

“Oh, I was there alright. Made to listen and see, but not to _be_ seen. Moriarty will dig up that bodyguard soon enough, as he is the one who helped him escape after all, he will know where to look. There will be some sort of “confession” of a liaison between us and that will be the end of the Magnussen-Holmes happily ever after-scenario. He will be too hurt and proud to do anything at first, retaliation will come eventually, but my guess is that he will keep quiet about it for the time being. Just like Moriarty advised him. If he doesn’t bother meeting with my brother, Mycroft won’t have a clue, and that’s not a sentence you hear very often.”

“So…Not, that it’s any of my business but…you and Magnussen? Was that some sort of elaborate scheme on your part as well? Get engaged and…what exactly?”

“As you already seem to have made up your mind about me, I don’t see how it matters. But yes, of course it wasn’t a match made in heaven or anything as foolish as that. He’s a huge part of an investigation I have been working on for ages now, but he’s famously difficult to come near, the only way to do it was to try getting access to the inside and when no other feasible option presented itself, I had to do to this, admittedly extreme, manoeuvre to achieve it. Once on the inside I had the advantage of not only having him, but also, an old and much more potentially dangerous foe, in my sight.”

“But he must have known what you do for a living? If he works with information and secrets, he must have made a back-ground check on you when you met?”

“Well, I’m not that known to the general public really. Yet. Everything I do for Scotland Yard and a very limited number of clients, is never attributed to me, I take pleasure in the work, not the reward. It’s not good in my line of business to be too well-known. So sure, he knew I had some " _hobby detective thing_ " going, but at the same time he knew that I am an amateur chemist and a violinist as well, he probable sees me as the lost little brother of Mycroft Holmes first and foremost. What I do in my spare time was never of any consequence to him as he wasn’t really sure what it was that I did with my time. I managed to downplay it even further when we actually met and got together, at best I’m a young man with a strange collection of non-profitable hobbies. That Moriarty knows of me and I of him is attributed to the fact that we once went to the same school as children, he went a couple of classes above me. I accused him of being a part of a drowning accident back in the day, when a member of the school’s swimming team met a very unfortunate and extremely unlikely death during a swimming competition, but I never got anyone to listen to me and he transferred shortly after, went back to Ireland, putting an end to any further investigations of mine. Moriarty might have hinted that we had something more romantically going on back then, in our schooldays, just to get a rouse out of Charles, but I’m not sure it actually worked. I have told him that’s it’s purely nonsense of course and there is nothing of any substantial evidence to support that claim. What he feels about that information after todays little lunch revelation though, who knows? He probably thinks Moriarty wants to have a go at me now.”

“Well, he’s not completely wrong there. The man seems obsessed. More than just because of an incident from years back.”

“We have our history, but nothing even remotely romantic, I can assure you. _Romance_ , it’s not really my area.” 

He wrikled his nose in slight disgust as to really assure me of his sentiment on the subject.

We had reached the gazebo once again and at the corner of the roof of it I could see a camera swivel in our direction. He noticed it too, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t he who had initiated this walk after all and nothing he had said to me could have been a secret to Moriarty anyway. I decided to make a turn, heading down one of the paths away from the gazebo and quietly he followed.

“For someone who assures me that _Romance_ isn’t his area, you seem very apt at it. Gigolo-level almost.” I muttered out of earshot from anyone listening in.

He immediately frowned, affronted.

“Nonsense. It’s not my fault if people…”

“No, it’s never your fault is it! It’s everyone else being stupid and you only doing what you need to do to get the results you want.”

“Exactly. Don’t see what’s so wrong with that?”

“No, you wouldn’t would you,” I muttered. 

But he was right. He didn’t see any fault in his methods and I was a grown up, it was hardly the first time I had been led astray by some well chosen words and a nice arse. It had usually gotten me somewhere with said arse at least, but I guess it had to be a firs time for everything and this place was proving to be a whole chain of first-time experiences for me. 

As I had now heard his reasoning, however childish and lacking of reality, I felt that my only chance of getting out of here lay in the hands of this man.  
I could try doing it on my own and he most assuredly would have his own go at it, but it was probably better if we worked together. 

But before being able to commit to anything I needed for him to assure me that this was going to be a double-act and not an opportunity for him to fly solo at the first opportunity presenting itself.

“So…this plan of yours, of getting out of here…” I began

Once again he looked at me with surprise in his eyes and it was slightly satisfying that I was able to produce that feeling in him considering his persona of a know-it-all. 

“…Yes?” he said tentatively. 

“Is it any good?”

“Why? I thought you wouldn’t want anything more to do with me after last time?”

“Well call me a stupid idiot who’s too kind and gullible for my own good then.”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if wanting to smile but not being sure if it was the right moment for it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“No, not to my face you wouldn’, if you know what's good for you! Besides, this isn’t going to be like last time, is it? This time we do this together. You do realise that if you had actually spoken to me, let me in on your plans, I could’ve done something to throw Sebastian off the scent, you could’ve gained valuable time and actually managed it. As it were, you went solo and all it resulted in was a bruised ego and you serving as a punching bag for it. Not a successful outcome in my book.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to protest but as he saw my stern glare he shut it again and reluctantly nodded. It stirred something of a satisfaction seeing him yeld to my words. It was most likely not going to become a habit and I would still have to keep a close eye on this mad hatter of a man on a regular basis, but still, if felt good to see that it could be done. 

“Good. Then that’s settled. First of all we have to work out a way to be able to communicate. We can’t be running out into the garden everytime we need to talk about things, it will look suspicious. Secondly, I have a feeling that you might already have something on your mind when it comes to an actual plan, am I right?”

For the first time in along time I felt like myself again. The person I had been in the army. Someone who served a purpose but also someone who knew how to take charge. Sherlock Holmes might have the brain and intellect to come up with the most staggering strategies and plans for our escape, but I was the one with the common sense and reason to see if we would actually make it out of here alive. 

And as if looking at me for the very first time, seeing what I was thinking and assessing that information, I could se Sherlock grasping that data and accepting it. 

Something bordering on, first surprise but then satisfaction and determination, fleeting over his features, for the first time totally unguarded of what he was projecting, was sufficient confirmation that I had made the right decision.

As if sealing the deal we had silently made between us, he lowered his voice conspiratorially as a guard was heading our way, whispering in that low baritone voice of his:

“Well, I have this idea…”


	18. Stage one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a plan to get out of Moriarty's clutches. But is it really safe?

When we parted ways ten minutes later I didn’t really know what to feel.   
I wished that we could’ve had more time to talk, but in accordance to the new plan we couldn’t really be seen cavorting in each other’s company that much in the nearest future. Walks like the one we had just had could not be an occurring event anymore and even if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how I felt about it, stage one of our escape plan had kicked in motion the second we set foot inside the house again, forcing us to mainly communicate through the new method Sherlock had invented for us, by small pieces of paper smuggled inside non-suspicious everyday objects.

Our stance was that we should keep up the pretence of a resentment between us after previous events, that we had been arguing during our walk and to really underline that perception we had parted ways in a huff when entering the house, Sherlock being the more theatrical of the two of us, making a performance out of it by acerbically hissing insults my way before swooping up the stairs in a strop, while I remained in the hall fuming, fists clenched, not to be missed by one of the staff passing by and most likely reporting it back to either Sebastian or Moriarty directly.

Stage one of our plan was to drive a wedge between those two, preferably as quickly as possible.   
Sebastian was Moriarty’s Jiminy Cricket without the moral compass but with the stability to keep Moriarty from going completely over the edge, not always succeeding as was evident when it came to our own situation and Sebastian’s perplexity about Moriarty’s agenda regarding Sherlock, but still, without him, Moriarty would lose a substantial asset to his team and lay bare a temporary weakness that we could abuse to our advantage.   
Someone with Sebastian Moran’s skills but also loyalty and admiration for his boss was difficult to find and despite his often-displayed contempt for his underling Moriarty was most likely aware of this fact, so it had to be something truly substantial to be able to cause a rift between them, preferably resulting in Sebastian being fired or at least temporarily removed.   
Sherlock said that the aim should be to have him out of the house, but I had a difficult time believing it could be done.

“That’s why we need to strike were it really hurts, causing so much damage in trust that it can’t easily be recovered. As it is now, Moriarty has become too reliant on his right-hand man and a part of him knows it, but as long as Moran is proving his loyalty he’s getting on fine, despite the risk that vulnerability imposes. The insults and belittling words are Moriarty’s way of trying to say that everyone is expendable but, in the end, they are just words, there will need to be a true breach of trust between them to put words into action.”

“And how do you suggest we’re going to do that?”

“By using the one weakness Moriarty has at the moment, namely me, and the fact that Sebastian knows about something that Moriarty doesn’t, which is my attempted escape and the aftermath of it. After all, Moriarty only knows what you did to me. Moran’s big mistake was that he didn’t tell his boss that he gave me a good pounding as well. He probably didn’t because he extended his little physical play with me after you left, by delivering a few additional blows, causing me to finally pass out. Risking the health of his boss’s favourite plaything like that would not have gone down well if I had ended up in any real physical danger, and having to explain why he lost it like that with me, without going into detail about how I managed to escape, it would have caused serious trouble for him. So he has kept quiet and he believes he is going to be getting away with it since you are now looking out for me, caring for my injuries. But I was thinking that we are going to make this look like something even worse than it actually is.”

He made a dramatic pause before continuing. He was clearly enjoying himself and his own cleverness while unfolding his plan. It was probably far more enjoyable to be doing this _with_ someone instead of alone.   
He would’ve missed the opportunity to shine.

“You’re going to discover my injuries and preferably some additional ones as well, maybe some signs of abuse of a more sexual nature and then you’ll bring your discoveries to Moriarty’s attention. Itneeds to be done so he doesn’t suspect a conspiracy between us, and it would be preferable if it could be delivered without actually naming Moran but still with the indication that no one else could have done it. As we are fortunate enough to still have my actual injuries to work with and show off as way of proof we need to work fast before they begin to fade.”

I wasn’t sure if I managed to keep up with his flow of words, my mind having screeched to a halt at the part about "abuse of a sexual nature", but if I didn’t want to lose my focus completely I had to catch on to his words again as they kept coming, without pause or hesitation. 

“Moran is the one in charge of the surveillance so likely he has deleted all evidence of his own abuse, but that can actually work in our favour. There is no existing footage of anyone else beating me except a very edited version of you delivering your punches to my face as I’m sure he had to show Moriarty something when he came home last night. So whatever seed of suspicion we are able to plant in Moriarty’s head about Moran’s part in my abuse, it can’t be overruled by any actual photographic evidence. And once Moriarty believes that his most trusted employee has taken liberties with his precious prisoner, especially if the liberties are of a severe and sexual nature, then that opens up for a true rupture in their relationship. That means it’s time for stage two of the plan – the actual escape.”

If I wasn’t too fond of stage one, the implications that something sexually abusive had taken place between Sherlock and Sebastian was nauseating even if they (hopefully) were nothing more than implications to be able to fool Moriarty, stage two wasn’t sitting well with me at all. 

Sherlock’s scheming in general seemed to be going in the overly dramatic and dangerous vein and even if danger itself was a huge enticement for me and the end result of possible freedom appealed to me even more, I didn’t like what he was suggesting when it came to the physical sacrifices he would have to make. 

“As a doctor I can’t condone that we do something like that!” I tried protesting when he got into the details of stage two.

But he wasn’t listening. 

And unless I managed to come up with a better idea, he would insist on following through with his hellraiser of a plan which involved both drugs, his failing health and an ambulance. But as stage one was still in focus I had some time to try coming up with another option to stage two.

We had decided that he was going to start showing signs of deteriorating strength by tomorrow morning, that I would be seen performing a physical examination of him before lunch and that around late afternoon I would try contacting Moriarty with concerns about my discoveries. Sherlock was going to try a distracting manoeuvre on Sebastian around that same time so he wouldn’t be alerted to any suspicious behaviour from us in advance. 

Before any of this, if we needed to communicate with each other we had only a few options and it needed to be done without raising suspicions. He named three items available for us to put small paper slips inside – a pack of cigarettes he would leave behind in the library and that I could pick up, with the intention of returning to him later. Same with a bottle of pain killers that I was going to give him after my examination, and then finally the paperback I had a habit of taking with me as a way of passing the time.   
A seemingly casual leafing through the pages with his dexterous fingers could easily slip a note between the pages for me to later extract in my room by pretending to look for the page I had last finished reading. Since Moriarty had delegated the task of the surveillance to someone else and Sebastian hardly had several hour of the day at his disposal to sit and look at video feeds of our every movement, we had to hope that the people in charge of actually watching us were as lazy and unable to spot our tricks as Sherlock proclaimed they would be. 

“People who do a menial and repetitive job grow bored and get sloppy however much you’re paying them. Unless we are really unlucky and there is a new kid on the job, they will see but they won’t observe, and the easiest part of our job will sort itself out without a problem.”

Despite his words I was worried. 

This plan was going ahead on full-speed, by tomorrow afternoon something was already bound to happen.   
None of us could predict Moriarty’s reaction to me telling him that Sherlock showed signs of abuse on his body but either way Sebastian would find out and if it didn’t manage to turn Moriarty against him then he would undoubtedly turn against us with full force.

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on my own. Sebastian came by to ask me if I wanted to join him for dinner as Moriarty was having his with Sherlock and none of us were invited.

I declined as I felt that I needed to think about the plan that lay ahead of us but a note from Sherlock in the discarded cigarette case informed me that I should try getting some information about surveillance from Sebastian, so I decided to go looking for him and take him up on his offer.

I found him in the kitchen with a few others from the staff. They gave me suspicious looks but when Sebastian made a sign with his hand, they scattered from the table and out of the room.

“Decided to join me after all?”

I didn't answer, just gave shrug and sat down. I couldn’t explain to him why I had changed my mind and I wasn’t a particularly good liar either.

“So, you and Holmes, still not in a good place then?” he said while I took a piece of the steak on the table between us. “Beginning to see what I’m talking about regarding him, then? Don’t understand what the boss sees in him quite frankly, he’s a cold-hearted bastard.”

“Isn’t Moriarty as well?” I said defensively.

Sebastian laughed and took a swig of his beer. He seemed more interested in drinking than in eating tonight and there was a tenseness in him that I hadn’t noticed before.

“No. Moriarty isn’t cold. Far from it. He’s all fire and napalm. Sure, they both have that thing were everything is about being clever and they like puzzles and brainwork and the intellect. But the boss is other things as well. You can never predict him, he can blow your head off within a second just for the sake of it, but at the same time he is the only one who has ever seen my full potential. In the army I was always considered too reckless, too brutal and stepping out of line when seeing a better solution to a problem than my superiors. Working for Moriarty is like having all the freedom to make decisions based on instinct. Like being in a war where what I do actually is appreciated. At the same time it’s like navigating through a mine field, one wrong step and you can blow up. But there is loyalty between us, he wouldn’t ever let me take that wrong step, we look out for each other.”

There was something almost maudlin about him tonight and it sent alarm bells ringing, because why was that? 

“Holmes doesn’t appreciate him like I do. He’s only interested in beating him, no matter what. Well, he won’t be able to. I just wish the boss would tire of him soon. This is taking all his focus away from the business and there are people out there who are beginning to grow impatient. We should be moving along.”

“Where?” 

“Out of the country. Like we always do. We haven’t stayed this long in the same place ever. But like always, Holmes caused a distraction, then the engagement with Magnussen came, now this kidnapping situation, but finally I think we’re about the get moving.”

“But you’ll take him with you, you won’t get rid of him anyway.” I objected.

“No. Boss wants to fuck him first.”

He made it sound like a bad taste in his mouth but his face didn’t show a sign of what he was feeling. But the looseness of his lips tonight told the tale of perhaps a bit too much to drink. Clearly something had him rattled.   
Maybe the prospect of his boss trying to sleep with his enemy? On the other hand Sebastian had hinted of that prospect on other occasions, but maybe he had believed it wouldn’t happen. 

As for myself, I hoped our plan would prevent it from **ever** happening.

“Where are they now?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it. If he noticed my falsehood, he didn’t mention it and frankly he wasn’t paying me much attention, too absorbed in his drinking and brooding.

“In the dining room. Moriarty’s arranged a small feast. Don’t know why he bothers, Holmes isn’t big on eating, unlike the brother. But I guess it’s proper courting, wine and dinner, fancy suit on. Besides, the boss likes a nice meal. He isn’t a picky eater, enjoys the finer the things in life. Shame he wastes them on someone like…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, just took another full mouth of his beer, finishing the bottle off.   
He was obviously bitter now. 

I decided to take advantage of the fact that he was at least a little bit influenced by alcohol and surprisingly loose lipped for it.

“He never watched the surveillance of us beating Holmes did he? Did you tamper with the tape?”

He stopped for a second, on his way to open a new bottle. Instead he met my eyes, but unlike what I was expecting, he didn’t scrutinize me, he just looked at me and then he continued with the beer.

“I sure did. Knew he would want to see it for himself. Frankly he was a bit jealous, I think. He has hit Holmes himself, as you know, but that didn’t end that well. It resulted up in a a huge wall of resentment between them, Holmes somehow ended up winning that argument despite being the one getting a flogging. Don’t know how he does it, but he has the boss around his little finger. It's shameful!”

There was some spittle coming from his mouth and I wondered if it was worth winding the man up more by talking about Sherlock and Moriarty. He was beginning to sound like a broken record. I tried staying on the topic of surveillance.

“So, you’re in charge of the cameras? Is that how you saw us so quickly in the garage last night?”

“I can’t afford to waste that much time staring at a bunch of surveillance screens, but I was alerted to you being there and came to see for myself just seconds after he had escaped. Shouldn’t have been so surprised that he managed to fool you, he does that to everyone, but still…I had hoped to be proven wrong, I guess. I always liked you, John. Ever since that day we first met. You have something sensible about you. You seemed like a practical man, even back then with all those military losers, like someone who had just been hit by a touch of bad luck. “

If I hadn’t been so determined to follow through with our plan, no matter what, I might have actually felt a bit guilty. Because in some ways I liked Sebastian too.   
He was most likely a dangerous ex-military, having done all kinds of despicable things, both back then and now as Moriarty’s henchman.   
But still, the way he was with me, the way he spoke, he seemed like the only sensible one here, besides myself perhaps.   
And was I really that much better?   
I was following the command of an obvious nut case, just like he was. Except his nut case was trying to kill my nut case and a lot of other people as well. Out of two bad speciemens, his was definitely the worst one. 

It almost felt bad to separate him from his beloved boss, cause a rift between them. Sebastian would most certainly mourn the loss.

“He must really trust you?” I asked, finishing up the final pieces of steak. 

“The boss doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But I’m the closest he has to someone being loyal to him. I guess he hopes Holmes will provide him with something, but it won’t be trust and honesty, and despite his blind spot when it comes to Holmes, at least he gets that.”

“But you lie to him too. You didn’t tell him the whole truth about yesterday.”

“No. Because heads would be rolling, yours first and foremost. But mine as well I guess. He would regret it later, like he did when he whipped Holmes with that riding crop, so this is me looking out for him. In the end no one got hurt, so there is no use telling about something that doesn’t mean anything. Well, _almost_ no one got hurt.”

He chuckled and emptied yet another bottle, slamming it against the table a little forcefully.

“Did you check out those injuries like I told you? I might have gone a bit overboard.”

As I hadn’t actually seen the injuries I could truthfully shake my head, quietly wondering what Sherlock was hiding beneath his clothes. Was it bad enough to actually put him in any danger? More than necessary to use when showing Moriarty?   
I wouldn’t put it past him and it worried me a bit. If we ever made it out of here and I was given the opportunity, I was going to give him a piece of my mind on his carelessness for his own safety. 

“Well, make sure that you do. He seemed to be in ok shape when I took him down to dinner, but like I said, I might have been a bit enthusiastic last night. I hope the boss won’t try anything with him tonight.”

_You and me both_ , I thought. 

Silence fell between us and before one of us had the opportunity to break it his phone rang.   
With a parting murmuring in my direction he exited the kitchen, leaving me alone.

I decided to take the opportunity to leave a message to Sherlock in the bottle of pills, dropping it off in his empty room.

_No new information about surveillance. S.M in charge but he has delegated it, sheer luck he caught wind of garage incident._

I would’ve liked to put down a sentence about Moriarty and his plans about sex as well, but most likely Sherlock already knew and would think it was useless information. And pointless sentiment.

 

I was lying in my bed, reading when I finally heard him coming up the stairs, going to his room. I threw a look at the clock. Almost midnight. I wondered what they had been up to all these hours.  
But no use waking the green beast of jealousy now, we had a plan to kick off tomorrow. 

Supressing any lingering feelings of protectiveness, I finished the page in my book before turning the lights off and going to bed. 

On the other side of the wall he was – the man I wished could be mine.   
If we got out of here perhaps....  
No, _when_ we got of here, I corrected myself, letting pictures of his determined eyes and stubborn features lull me to sleep. 

 

I woke abruptly by a loud crash from the other side of the wall. 

Confused I sat up in bed, still half-asleep and a bit confused about both time and place. A quick look at the alarm clock told me that it was only a quarter past three. 

Unsure of what exactly had woken me I still felt the need to go check it out and rose from my bed, putting on a dressing gown to cover myself up a bit before opening the door and heading over to the room next to mine.

I listened in the dark before knocking, to see if someone was heading up the stairs, but as I heard no approaching steps I promptly knocked on his door before opening it, not waiting for a reply. 

This was not a part of our plan and I wondered what he was playing at, had he decided to skip ahead in schedule? 

When I entered his room I was met with a sight that first froze me in my place but then had the doctor in me jolt to life, making me rush over to where he was lying on the floor, doubled over in pain. Beside him was a lamp he had managed to knock over from his bedside table, smashing the base into pieces. It was probably that sound that had woken me. 

“What’s wrong?” I bent down over him, touching his forehead, feeling for his temperature. To my surprise it was damp with sweat and his features were distorted in pain. Unsure if he was acting or if he actually _was_ in pain I tried searching for a sign in his eyes but they were shut, depriving me of any clues to what was going on.

As he was doubled over it was difficult to get access but, bluffing or not, I decided to finally take a look at those injuries and pushing his hands out of the way I determinedly went for his t-shirt.   
Pulling it up, revealing his body beneath, made me gasp.   
Because he was in a truly bad state. The bruising covered almost the whole abdomen, showing clear signs of internal bleeding and continued down his body to where his pyjama pants were still covering the rest. 

Deciding that he most likely wasn’t faking it I rushed back to my room, grabbing the pager I hadn’t used since that one time in the beginning when he hadn’t been cooperating. Typing in _HELP_ I hit send and rushed back to his room to wait for back up. 

Four men came a short time later, turning expectantly towards me, awaiting order.

“I need help to carry him downstairs to the treatment room. But you need to be really careful, he’s badly injured and until I know bad it is we have to be really cautious so we don’t make it worse.”

They approached Sherlock who was moaning in pain and were about to grab him so they could lift him, when suddenly they were interrupted by a voice from the door.

“What is going on here? What’s happened?!”

The four men turned at the same time as me, to face the newcomer behind us. 

It was Moriarty.


	19. Exit Sebastian Moran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is seriously wrong with Sherlock but is it a part of their plan or is he really in trouble? At the same time Moriarty is not happy and the tables are turned on Sebastian.

“What’s wrong with him?” 

Moriarty was dressed in a cream-coloured pyjamas and slippers, looking strangely humane and vulnerable, with his hair not slicked back like it usually was, sticking out in different directions, like he had been woken up abruptly, which probably was the case.   
There was even something resembling worry in his eyes, mixed with irritation, because it probably bothered him that he felt worried in the first place.   
This was James Moriarty after all, crime lord extraordinaire, show no mercy- show no heart. 

I couldn’t help but stare at him for a second, taking in the unusual appearance, before snapping out of it and turning towards the four men, ordering them to continue.   
Returning to my doctor-mode I took command of the room like I would have if it had been out on the field, feeling in my true element of being in charge.

“I don’t know what’s happened yet. I need to take him down to the treatment room and examine him. But he’s very badly injured, mostly on his upper body, as far as I can see. Perhaps further down as well.”

Moriarty looked passed me at his prisoner lying on the floor. Confusion was evident in his features. 

“I don’t understand. What injuries? Where did they come from?”

I kept to our story as if it was playing out like we had planned it, although this certainly wasn’t anything I had been prepared for.   
Pretending like everything was news to me was the most suitable solution, no one could demand any explanations which was good since I didn’t know what I was dealing with yet.

“I don’t know. I can only account for my own actions, which certainly wasn’t more than a few punches to his face, nothing resulting in anything like this.” 

Moriarty gave me a suspicious glare but stepped out of the way as the men moved passed with Sherlock between the two of them, the other two following close behind. Silently I passed him as well, following them out of the room just as Sebastian appeared, coming up the stairs, the last one to join our little gathering.   
Confusion was evident as he saw us, eyes growing even wider as he spotted Moriarty as well.

He grabbed my arm, with a questioning look but I just shook my head, I didn’t have time to stop and answer anything right now. What could I possibly tell him anyway?

Down in the treatment room Sherlock was laid out on the examination table and with the aid of a pair of scissors I cut his t-shirt open just as Moriarty and Sebastian came into the room. They had obviously been conferring outside before stepping in, but since Moriarty didn’t know anything and Sebastian wasn’t likely to inform him either, nothing of relevance could have passed between them. 

Moriarty immediately balked when he saw the bruising covering Sherlock’s abdomen and even Sebastian looked like he had a hard time taking in what he was seeing, as if he was surprised as well.   
It made me wonder what exactly had taken place between him and Sherlock after I had left yesterday evening.   
All I knew was that Sherlock had finally passed out and had to be carried back to his room afterwards. On the other hand he had seemed more or less fine when we had taken our walk in the garden today and he hadn’t shown any signs of distress when dining with Moriarty either, or that fact would’ve been brought to my notice.   
So even to me, this scenario was proving to be a mystery and I wondered if Sherlock himself had managed to worsen his injuries on his own during the night. 

The treatment room was to crowded now and I needed both the space and some calmness to be able to perform my duties, so I ordered the others to leave.   
At first Moriarty looked like he wasn’t going to comply, remaining stubbornly where he was, but when I told him that I couldn’t do my work with everyone in the room, he reluctantly left with the others.   
Before leaving I caught Sebastian giving me a hard stare, willing me to keep my mouth shut but I ignored him, putting my focus on the patient in front of me instead. I couldn’t afford any loyalties to him if I was ever going to get out of here.

When the others had left, probably all rushing over to the surveillance room instead to continue supervising the situation, I removed the pyjama pants as well, seeing some additional bruises around the hip area and upper thighs,where his underpants wasn't covering his skin. A stark pattern of finger prints against his pale skin on the inside of his upper thighs made me frown, it was like he had been grabbed really hard intimately close to his private area. 

I stood next to him, putting my stethoscope over his lungs to listen for wheezing sounds in his breathing but other than the fact that he was in obvious pain there seemed to be nothing wrong with his airways. I auscultated his heart as well but despite a rapid heartrate, most likely on account of his acute pain, I found nothing critically wrong with that either. 

I decided to administer some Morphine for his pain, despite the knowledge that he was a former addict. It would calm him down enough for me to be able to try and take a few X-rays of his lungs to make sure they hadn’t been punctured. 

As I was administering the Morphine into his vein he hissed and I bent closer to his mouth to make out what he was saying. 

“Get my blue sweater from my room. It’s on the chair,“ he whispered against my ear. It was clearly straining to talk and exhausted he gasped for air after having said his message. 

I looked down at him and his eyes met mine with a pleading stare before he closed them again in pain, so I finished administering the Morphine and informed him of my intentions of taking a few X-rays after I had brought him his sweater. 

As soon as I was out of the room two of the previously four guards came running towards me and I ordered them to go inside and look out for the patient while I fetched him something warm.  
Luckily neither Sebastian or Moriarty appeared when I stepped out, trying to have a word with me and I was allowed to go back to Sherlock’s room unaccompanied. 

The blue sweater was hanging casually over the back of a chair in front of his desk.   
It wasn’t an article I had ever seen him wear before, as he usually went for his designer shirts and suits, but I suspected that there was a purpose to me fetching this item for him.   
True enough I noticed a small front pocket as I lifted the sweater from the chair and discreetly I let my fingers glide inside it, feeling paper beneath my fingers.   
As I didn’t know exactly where the surveillance cameras were planted in his room I left without taking the note out, instead making a detour to my own room, pretending to go for a medicine book on my book shelf and then, with my back to the camera I had managed to locate, I removed the note as discreetly as possible and put it over the pages I had opened up in front of me.

_“Injuries self-enhanced from existing ones. Pretend to find symptoms of sexual abuse as well, will make effect more powerful.”_

Closing the book with a thud, leaving the note inside it, I tried wrapping my head around this new information while, by sheer reflex, I took the sweater and walked back downstairs to the treatment room. 

“Leave” I said to the two guards, without even looking at them. 

Inside I was feeling a turmoil of mixed feelings raging.   
The stupid idiot had seemingly decided to take matters into his own hands, moving forward with our plan without informing me and putting a more dramatic spin to it by making his injuries more severe, maybe even having gone a bit overboard as I didn’t really think he was faking the actual pain.   
A part of me regretted giving him the Morphine. If he had caused this situation on his own he could wallow in it as well.   
At the same time this was arguably more effective than our original plan, Moriarty was clearly shaken by these sudden events and that meant sentiment would likely cloud his judgement.   
If I performed a rectal examination and declared that I seen some signs of sexual abuse he would likely buy it and not go asking for actual evidence.   
Hopefully...  
The equipment in the treatment room were good but no so good as to be able to perform a DNA test, so that option was out of the question. That could work both in our favour and against us, depending on the view Moriarty was going to take to the following accusations. 

I met Sherlock’s eyes as I leaned over him again, showing him the shirt.   
Every movement I made was precise and done to calm my inner ramblings. As long as I performed my doctoral duties I was prevented from launching out in a tirade, against him or anyone else. There was something grounding in just doing my duty, like I always did while working. 

Calmly I spoke to him:

“You’ll be able to get dressed soon, I’ll just do a couple of X-rays and perform a rectal examination first. After that I will be able to know what we’re dealing with here. I’ll put this privacy screen around us and you can pull down your pants properly and turn around, meanwhile I’ll put some gloves on and get the gel. “

Sherlock immediately jerked, as if perplexed by my intentions. He really was a good actor because he performed incredulous nervousness with perfection. Or maybe he was actually shocked by my suggestion.

“What? Why?” he exclaimed.

“Because that is what I need to do to see if you have any internal bleeding and to see how extended your injuries are. Standard procedure during cases of abuse.”

“Can’t you just do the X-ray?”

“No. I’ll need to perform this examination as well. No need to worry, it’ll be a bit uncomfortable, but I’ll try to be gentle and quick about it. Unless you want to tell me in advance what I can expect of course?”

“No,” he said sullenly and turned his eyes away from me.

“I’ll just see for myself then. Pants off, Mr Holmes.” I said, trying my best to sound aloof about it, snapping on the gloves. 

As I very well knew that I wasn’t going to find anything, this was completely unnecessary, but it annoyed me that he had gone ahead with his own agenda without talking it through with me first, so I might just as well humiliate him a bit. He was lucky that I had offered to do it behind the privacy screen at least. The idea that Moriarty and the gang were going to get a good look at his naked body did not sit well with me, so it was for my sake as much as his.

I tried being clinical about it, as if this was whoever in front of me, but it was difficult not to be aware of his very naked ass right in front of me.   
I took a generous portion of gel and put two fingers inside, examining his prostate and looking for torn tissue while trying to think of anything else but what I was actually doing. I could feel him clench around my fingers and however uncomfortable I was feeling I found some satisfaction in the thought that it was a thousand times worse for him.  
If I had ever fantasized about putting my fingers up his anus, it certainly wasn’t during circumstances like these.

When finished I pulled off my gloves, jotted down some lines in my notepad, not saying anything to him about my results, just simply ordering him to pull up his pants again.  
After that I told him to go stand in front of the X-ray screen, to take a deep breath and then I took a few shots. 

While I went over to my computer to take a look at the pictures, he got dressed, pulling the blue sweater over his lean torso, hiding the map of extensive bruises from view. Fully-clothed and with Morphine pumping through his veins he seemed almost back to normal again, not a sign of his previous pain and misery.   
If I hadn’t seen him writhing in pain myself earlier, I would not have believed it or perhaps he truly was a magnificent actor, close to Oscar-worthy. 

“Please sit down, I’ll just take a look at these and then we’ll talk,” I said, and he did as he was told, drawing his hand through his curls, removing the last symptom of his distress with the sweat-drenched tresses of hair from his eyes.

Stalling for time, I pretended to give the X-ray pictures a thorough examination while I contemplated my next move.   
Fortunately I needn’t have worried as the door opened, revealing Moriarty in the doorframe, this time with a dressing gown over his pyjamas, but otherwise looking like before. He had clearly been following our procedure through the cameras, keeping himself up to date.   
He was much calmer now, a hint of his sardonic self back in place again, but still wondering about what exactly it was that had happened to Sherlock.

“So what’s the verdict here, Doctor? What exactly is it that has been going on with our dear houseguest during the night?”

I cleared my throat and swivelled around in my chair to face him.   
I wondered where Sebastian was. Had he not been invited to join us? Was he staying away on purpose, feeling the heat beneath his feet?

“I haven’t had the chance to talk to Mr Holmes extensively yet, but from what I can gather, he’s been the victim of some serious abuse recently. As far as I can ascertain it can’t have been more than a 24 hours ago, the bruises are still pretty fresh. On top of that, he shows signs of…”

I hesitated, because even if it was all pretend, it felt ominous to make this statement out loud. Why I felt like that I wasn’t sure, Sherlock probably didn’t care, but it didn’t sit well with me, saying this. Not even to someone like Moriarty.

“What? Show signs of what?” He had a tone of irritation in his voice now. He didn’t like not knowing, it was evident. He was accustomed to being on top of everything so this was clearly plaguing him tremendously. 

I sighed and decided to just go for, like I would if it had been any other normal patient I had to talk to about these issues. As calmly as I could I began.

“Sexual abuse. Without going into too many details he has torn tissue indicating forced entry and…well, let’s just say the evidence is rather palpable. “

To his credit Moriarty looked absolutely ashen at first.   
It was like he didn’t understand how else to respond but by being completely silent. 

Sherlock to his credit kept his cool, at first looking down at his feet but then raising his head in defiance and looking straight at his captor. As if all of this was Moriarty’s fault. 

Moriarty met his gaze and then, coming to life, his eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. To my surprise he turned in my direction instead of Sherlock’s, demanding answers in a harsh tone.

“How’s this even possible? You said you only punched him in the face. I saw the video feed myself!”

“ _I_ didn’t do this!” I immediately protested, holding up my hands in a placating gesture. But he was clearly not satisfied.

“Then who did?”

The room went quiet for a second, Moriarty staring at me, I looking back at him and no one saying a single word.   
Then, all of a sudden, a small chuckle was heard through the silence, forcing both of us to turn our heads to face the sound. 

It was Sherlock. 

His body shook with suppressed mirth, his thin shoulders shaking and making a rather unbalanced impression.   
Moriarty’s brows knitted in confusion, tilting his head to the side, like a lizard, clearly not following.

“He’s been coming to my room for a while now. When you’re sleeping. “

Sherlock’s voice was low but without hesitation. 

Moriarty’s eyes went wide and for a second he looked like he was about to explode. Then he started shaking his head.

“No…”

But Sherlock wasn’t having it.   
He caught Moriarty’s disbelieving stare and returned it with calm assurance in his eyes. 

“ _Yeees_. You know he’s the only one who would be able to pull it off. Head of surveillance. Has been doing it for at least two weeks. Very careful in the beginning to not leave any marks, used a cloth to wash the evidence away afterwards. Yet it’s still surprising no one never noticed the faint scent of disinfectant on me. Of course, none of you knew, so maybe it never crossed your mind. You don’t go looking for something you haven’t even contemplated.”

I felt a nervous lump forming in my throat as Sherlock kept expanding his story. As there had never been a hint of desinfectant on him he was walking a thin line, but at the same time he sounded so convincing he made me question if there hadn't actually been something between him and Sebastian during the past two weeks. 

A part of me wondered where Sebastian was. It was a bit suspicious that he wasn’t here, with his boss.   
At the same time it was a relief, because he would never take these allegations unchallenged, he would be on Sherlock with more force than a raging tiger.   
Like this, Sherlock could speak unopposed. 

“Yesterday evening he lost control. After the incident between me and Doctor Watson. You weren’t here… It started out with him wanting to have a talk with me after the doctor had left, but soon enough he felt the need to discipline me and well…”

A shudder went through his body and once again I was hit with the fact that if I didn’t know that this was an act, he would have convinced me as well. 

Sure, Sebastian _had_ felt the need to discipline him, but this, this was beyond a simple reprimand. This was assault in its truest form and with the implication of sexual ingredients as well, no wonder Moriarty’s eyes were bulging out his sockets with rage.   
He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again with a snarl, probably still trying to wrap his thoughts around Sherlock’s accusations, unsure of how he was to react.

That very second Sebastian appeared in the doorway. 

He had been rushing to get there, slightly out of breath and to my surprise he looked like he didn’t know what was going on.   
Maybe he hadn’t been left in the surveillance room after all. Maybe he didn’t even know that he was stepping right into the lion’s den. 

The look on his face revealed no anger, simply some hesitant confusion, a person still unaware of an impending disaster.   
All eyes in the room turned towards him when he entered and he stopped, unsure, when noticing. Still on the wrong side of ignorance.

“What…” he began, looking from Moriarty, to me and then finally at Sherlock. 

His eyes then fixed themselves on his enemy, trying to figure out what was going on, a dawning sense of comprehension slowly working its way into his eyes.

“It’s a lie…” were the first words crossing his lips as he seemed to understand that somehow he was the one on the receiving end of Moriarty’s simmering anger.   
Not yet fully aware of why that was, but still with the sense that his boss was very angry with someone in the room and that it was likely to be with him, however unexpected that was.

“And what exactly is it you claim is a lie?” Moriarty hissed and you could see Sebastian understand that he had clearly said the wrong thing.   
Trying to back away as Moriarty like a slithering snake came towards him he hit the wall, unable to get away.

He never got the opportunity to explain anything further, because while putting his hands up in a placating gesture and opening his mouth to offer some words of explanation, Moriarty produced a gun from the pocket of his dressing gown and shot his right-hand man without even a flinch, just as Sebastian was about to start talking. 

Moriarty shot him in the hand, not a fatal wound but something to render the other man into a screaming, bleeding, staggering mess, falling to the floor, his one hand clutching his injured one, as the blood poured out of the wound. 

There was immediately movement coming from outside and seconds later the door burst open, men with weapons drawn, barging in, trying to assess the situation. A gunshot in this house probably resulted in that kind of reaction.

” Seize him!” Moriarty yelled, clear fury in his voice. ”Take him out of here and wait for my orders.”

He then swivelled to face Sherlock and pointed a finger in the younger man’s face. 

” I’ll deal with you later. You’re going to tell me everything and then you’ll explain why you haven’t said a peep about any of this until now.”

Turning away from him, his voice was ice while addressing me instead.

"As for you, Doctor, it remains to be seen if you failed in your duty to look after your protégé. We’ll see if you’ll be keeping Moran company or not. I expect a full report from you when we see each other next time and make sure to _fix him!_ ”

With that he marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he left. 

Sherlock and I looked at the door and then simultaneously turned to look at each other.   
A small grimace was playing at his lips, hesitant to break out into a full-blown grin but there was a glimmer to his eyes, telling me that he felt very satisfied with the outcome, despite Moriarty’s reaction.

“You heard the man, Doctor Watson. Fix me up good and proper now.” He smirked and my eyes narrowed at the teasing tone he displayed with me.

“Oh, shut up!” I quipped, “Or I’ll make you bend over without your pants again.” 

He snorted but did as he was told, calmly letting me get back to what we had been trying to do before Moriarty had interrupted us.   
With a stern look in his direction I made sure that he was listening before lifting my finger, pointing at the X-ray of his lungs, still on display on my computer screen.

“So, if you look here…” I began and felt his attention on me, a calmness settling in the room. This had been a true ordeal, kickstarting stage one with a bang. Hopefully stage two wouldn’t be half as dramatic as this.


	20. Taking risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Sebastian Moran gone it's time to begin with stage two of the escape plan. It will mean taking some risks though.

Sebastian was not seen again. 

I contemplated asking but was afraid that I would trigger Moriarty’s temper. He had been in a foul mood when finding out what Sherlock had told him, delivering it in such a fashion that even I, who knew the truth, had difficulty not seeing it in front of me: Sebastian’s fingerprints in fresh memory, shining starkly against Sherlock’s alabaster skin. Only Sherlock knew if they had actually been Sebastian’s . 

After I had sent Sherlock back to his room I wondered if Moriarty would be summoning me, but the house was quiet and finally I went back to my own room, lying down in my bed, waiting for sleep to come and claim the final hour before morning.

Not surprisingly I didn’t manage to catch any rest.  
Stage one of our plan had gone down much more dramatically than I could’ve imagined it. Sherlock kickstarting the whole process without letting me know, the vague message in the cigarette packet about sexual abuse, Sebastian’s dramatic removal from the scene and Moriarty’s anger and subsequent shooting of his right hand man. No wonder I couldn’t calm down enough to catch some well-deserved sleep despite feeling absolutely knackered. 

I kept wondering about Sebastian. 

The fire in his boss’s eyes had been alarming enough and if I ever considered myself to be a bit jealous it was obviously nothing in comparison to what Moriarty was feeling. I didn’t know their dynamic well enough, but I suspected that Moriarty was territorial enough to sacrifice his closest employee on account of Sebastian having touched someone Moriarty considered to be his. 

Images of what they might be doing to Sebastian now kept tainting my thoughts.  
The house was quiet as a graveyard but that didn’t mean that a room, unbeknownst to me, wasn’t being used right this minute as some sort of torture chamber.  
Or as a killing room.  
Perhaps they had all driven away to some remote location in the woods and done the deed there. Left him in an unmarked grave, buried beneath branches and leaves, not to be discovered for years, or possibly ever. 

I buried my head in the pillow, trying to rid myself of these thoughts.  
I had nothing to base my theories on after all. Maybe I had simply seen too much of the Sopranos?  
But he had been shot without a second’s hesitation, there was that fact.

Finally giving up on trying to catch some sleep, I got up and dressed myself, wondering if I should take a look at Sherlock, but the Morphine was probably doing its work with him and he needed the rest. Despite planning it all, it had been a distressing situation for him none the less. 

So I went for walk in the garden instead.  
There were still two guards down by the gate but for once no one was patrolling the garden or the rest of the premises.  
Perhaps they were all with Moriarty and Sebastian somewhere. 

I started walking towards the gazebo, watching the morning light spread across the rose bushes further ahead.  
It once again struck me how tranquil this place seemed on the surface, despite all the darkness happening inside the house.  
I wondered if Moriarty ever thought about the contrasts, if that was the reason he had once chosen this place as his home or if he had simply bought a fancy house, a suitable distance from the city and settled here for the time being.  
Sebastian had mentioned that they normally never stayed in one place for long though.

I reached the gazebo and stopped for a moment, watching the wall further ahead, surrounding the premises.  
It was tempting to just make a go of it, run towards the wall and try getting over it, head for freedom on the other side.  
It didn’t seem to be supervised, on the contrary it felt like I was completely on my own at the moment. The urge to just sprint towards it was almost overwhelming, I was damned If I stayed here anyway and there were no guarantees that our plan was going to succeed. 

But a part of me knew that I couldn’t just leave Sherlock here.  
I didn’t have any of his resources of acquiring help, I hadn’t the first idea of where to find his brother for example and even if I did manage to reach freedom, it could potentially mean that Sherlock would be moved before I was able to find any assistance in a rescue mission. If that happened there was a risk that he would disappear forever.  
Moriarty surely had the means to move his prisoner out of the country, he could take him anywhere and Sherlock Holmes would never be heard of again.  
I knew that I couldn't live with that fate on my shoulders, it would plague me to my dying days. 

So no, I would not be making a run for it on my own, despite the temptation to do so. 

And besides, like everything else in this household, appearances could be deceiving. I had no idea if the wall truly was unsupervised and what awaited me on the other side. 

With a sigh I turned my back against it.

“Good call, John. It’s not as calm as it may seem, despite the decrease in guards at the moment.”

I swivelled around, looking for where the voice was coming from. I recognised it of course, it had haunted my thoughts almost since the first time I had heard it, but despite letting my gaze roam my surroundings I saw no one. 

“Act casual and open the door to the gazebo, its unlocked, and just sit down.”

Inwardly I sighed, because when did my life turn into a bad spy series from the 60’ies? I was half expecting to hear the famous line of: _“This tape will self-destruct in ten seconds.”_

The door to the gazebo was already slightly ajar, a fact I hadn’t noticed when passing earlier and when I entered, I immediately spotted him sitting on the floor, back against the wall, out of sight from anyone walking by outside.

“Please, take a seat. We can only take advantage of this gap in security for a short time, and we still need to be careful, so sit down next to me, back against the path outside. Make it seem like you’re just relaxing for a while, in case someone sees you. They’re all still probably busy with Moran but we don’t know how long that will take.”

Without replying I sat down on the seat next to where he was sitting on the floor, my legs brushing against his arm. 

Despite last night’s drama he seemed fine and I wondered yet again how much had been an act and how much the Morphine was still keeping him free from pain.

“How did you know that I was going to pass by here when I did?”

“I heard you moving about in your room, I figured that you needed to clear your head after everything that happened last night and since this is your usual route I thought that I would catch you sooner or later. Like you, I’m taking advantage of the lack of surveillance at the moment. It wont last, but for now we can take the opportunity and have a talk unsupervised, without the hassle of hidden messages.” 

“Tired of your own scheming already, are you?” I couldn't help but grin a little, most probably because I was so tired and not a hundred percent myself at the moment, conflicting feelings all over the place.

“This is not a favourite pastime of mine, coming up with ideas on how to break out of a prisonlike existence. It’s more a necessity I’d say. So, yes, I’m a bit strained at the moment and I always get edgy when coming off a drug, however temporary.”

“I’m not going to apologize for giving you Morphine, you looked terrible," I protested. "If you had informed me that you and Sebastian between yourselves had decided to turn your body into a replica of a roshac test I might have skipped it, but as it was, the doctor in me reacted accordingly.”

If I glanced down I could se the mass of dark curls first and foremost, they were right next to me, a few centimetres to my left and I could touch the, I presumed, silky texture of them if I wanted to.  
A part of me _did_ want to do that, but this was not the time nor the place for it. 

In the peripheral of my eye I could se the curls sway slightly as he moved his head to the side, trying to take a look at me.  
His dark lashes was also something I noticed, a stark contrast to his pale skin. For a man with such a decidedly larger than life-personality his features had always struck me as being surprisingly delicate when really looking at them.  
Those cheekbones and the generous mouth would have been the envy of any woman I had ever dated, and yet nothing in his character suggested that he had any effeminate traits to his personality.  
The few gay men I had met in my life who resembled him in appearance, even if not being able to produce the same effect by a long shot, had all been what would be called “camp” and over the top, taking great effort with appearances and image.  
He seemed completely clueless as to why people found him attractive, he just knew that they did and took advantage of that fact if it could win him any favours.  
But despite probably knowing which clothes looked good on his body, he seemed oblivious to the rest of his appearance in general, his hair looked like it did without any effort on his part, he was naturally slim and tall, his features, eyes and lips had won the lottery in genetics without him giving it a second thought.  
While a lot of us had to put in a bit of work to look our best with the help of grooming, sometimes minding our intake of food and drink, working out stay fit after 30 and so forth, he just was.  
It was quite frustrating when thinking about it. His brother probably hated him secretly for looking like he did.

As he now turned his head to look at me, his arm brushing even closer against my leg, I couldn’t help but lower my own head to meet his gaze, despite promising to act inconspicuous while sitting in the gazebo.

“Why do you call him that?”

His question woke me from my thoughts about his appearance, feeling like I had missed something.

“What?”

“Why do you call him Sebastian? You don’t strike me as someone who puts your trust in people that easily, but calling him by his first name indicates that you perhaps did?”

“I trusted you, didn’t I? Stupidly enough…” I muttered but he just shook his head.

“That was different. Or am I missing something? Between you and…him? Some intimacy?”

I lifted my head again, turning my eyes away from him. 

As he was sitting there, down on the floor, bruises still covering his face but otherwise looking almost like he always did, he seemed very young. He had an open expression on his face for once, the question about him having missed something important making him look both surprised and a bit vulnerable, like a schoolboy who’s performed a difficult algorithm on the blackboard but then misses a simple detail and thus ending up with the wrong answer.

“No, we weren’t intimate. Far from it. In case you forgot he was keeping us here as much as Moriarty did. But I don’t know…he seemed decent when I first met him and despite everything he always came off as …not _that_ bad. In comparison. Despite having the bad taste of working for a complete loon. “

“I assure you, Moran wasn’t a decent person. Far from it. He’s killed people, both before working for Moriarty and after. And he was pretty brutal the other night. Even if I made it look like he had done an even worse job on me, he was very thorough. And he _liked_ it. The pain he was causing. That’s not a decent person in my eyes.”

“Developing a sense of morals all of a sudden?” I couldn’t help but quip.

“Not at all. I was just wondering about the name. It struck me as odd. But I guess you can’t account for the taste of some people.” The last was said with a haughty tone to his voice and I couldn’t help but look down at him again. He looked slightly annoyed.

“What’s that supposed to me?”

“Nothing. It was just an observation.”

Suddenly I couldn’t help but feel annoyed with him. What was he implying?  
And why would it have mattered to him if I had been intimate with Sebastian? Besides, the man was gone now anyway.

“Don’t understand what difference it makes what I called him. You called Magnussen Charles. And you seemed to be on a first name basis with Moriarty as well…”

“No I wasn’t!” Sherlock interrupted, clear indignation in his voice now.

“He calls you Sherlock frequently.”

“So? That’s by no fault of mine. And what was I supposed to call the man I was engaged to be married to? _Mr Magnussen_?” 

I could help but laugh at the thought.  
He was right of course. There were differences. But why he had jumped to the conclusion that it had been something more intimate between me and Sebastian was still a bit baffling. It seemed to annoy him as well. 

“Maybe it just struck me as odd. Considering the fact that you’re a man with trust issues.”

“Like I said, I trusted you. Maybe I was stupid twice?”

“No. You’re not stupid. Your loyalty isn’t easily earned, even I can concede that, despite doing my best to manipulate you. For what it’s worth, it was just a short-term strategy. I saw your interest and I took the chance. I would have done it to anyone.”

“Is that your very bad attempt at saying your sorry? Because you’re not doing a very fine job of it.”

“I don’t do apologies,” he began but when I sighed he hesitated and there it was again, that look of the confused schoolboy who’s done a miscalculation. If I wasn’t so irritated with him right now it would have been endearing. 

Unsure he bit his bottom lip and then shook his head, making the curls dance.

“But I can concede that it might not have been my best decision. Sure, it helped us getting into this situation instead, but I would have preferably skipped both the beating and the aftermath. Whatever you think of me, I’m not a bad person and I’m not happy with Moran’s fate, despite it meaning he’s out of our way now.”

I let those words sink in. Both him saying he was sorry but also the implication to Sebastian’s fate.

“What do you think they have done to him?” I finally asked.

“Can’t know for sure. But I do know that the house has a cellar very suitable for all kinds of torture scenarios. Soundproof and all. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again. Moriarty might regret it later but right now his rage is larger than his sense and if he has already shot him through the hand, rending him useless for any future sniper purposes, the main reason why Moriarty was keeping him in the first place, I would guess that death is going to be the likely outcome. Moriarty is not a person who’s likely to keep his mistakes alive as a painful reminder of his own shortcomings.”

The thought sent a shudder through me and I could see that the thought didn’t sit well with him either.

“I don’t know how I feel about being the instigator to someone’s death.”

“You’ll have to think about that when we get out of here. Our focus needs to be on the task of our escape. We have done stage one now, but stage two might be even trickier because Moriarty will be on his guard even more now. But as we have seen, his emotions can get the better of him and if we do this like we decided, it can actually work.”

I knew that he was right, focus should be on getting away from Moriarty, but I couldn’t help but feel anger flare up inside me.  
He sounded so cold and calculating.  
A man had just died, and it had been our fault. I couldn’t brush that off as easily as he apparently could.  
It had never hit me that Moriarty would kill Sebastian, in my head I had pictured more of a row between them, perhaps a dismissal at the most. I wondered if Sherlock was really honest when saying he felt bad for Sebastian. 

Not being able to help myself I lashed out at him. 

“Are you always this cold?”

I could see him stiffen but I didn’t care. He was so beautiful on the outside, but was his inside something different?

When he didn’t reply I grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn and look at me.

“Did you foresee what would happen to him when Moriarty found out about your wounds?”

His eyes were clear, looking straight at me and I searched for a sign of anything in them, either shame, remorse, sadness, anything. But they conveyed nothing. 

Finally he spoke, still looking straight at me.

“I understand that you have no trust in me. Not anymore. I accept that and I also concede that we both do this because we want to get out of here. So it really doesn’t matter what I tell you, you’ll likely believe what your conscious tells you to believe. But for what it’s worth, I did not foresee this outcome. I knew that Moriarty was both dangerous, impulsive and deranged, that’s not news to any of us. Still, I didn’t see this coming. That’s the thing about him in the end. He’s completely unpredictable. That’s why he’s the most dangerous enemy I have ever met. There’s a risk stage two of our plan will get us killed, maybe just one of us but just as likely both. There are no guarantees to this. I hope you understand that. If you want to back out, I can’t stop you. But if you do want to continue with what we have talked about, this is the time. We need to strike when the iron is still hot, the house is in a turmoil and Moriarty is shaken to the core. He’s temporarily lost without Moran, but he won’t be forever. So if you’re with me, say so now. Otherwise I‘ll need to figure out something on my own. “

We looked at each other and I could feel the sincerity behind his words.  
He was right of course. There were no guarantees to anything, and our only chance were if we worked together, like we had said that we would.  
I could feel my anger seeping away.  
I didn’t fully trust him but he was the only option I had. And he was probably thinking the same about me. 

Suddenly very aware of our proximity I shifted, immediately felling the loss of his warmth against my leg.  
He was doing things to me that I had never let anyone else do to me, dragging me along his adrenaline fuelled schemes, never letting me pause enough to catch my breath and clear my head.  
But to my surprise, I was fine with that. And I had the feeling that he was pretty pleased with the situation as well. 

If we were really going to do this, this moment we were sharing right now might be the last one we would have before all hell broke loose. Feeling the impact of that realization I made a decision. 

I sank down to his level on the floor.  
I saw the surprise and uncertainty in his eyes but didn’t let that discourage me. If I was risking something as substantial as my life I might as well be taking other risks too. 

So, without giving myself any further chances to hesitate and retreat, I grabbed his face between my hands, leaning forward and pressed my lips against his.  
And kissed him.


	21. We need a resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock leaves John wondering about a possible future and Moriarty delivers a strict and very graphic warning

The kiss didn’t last that long. 

Sherlock jerked his head back and I opened my eyes, looking to see if I had perhaps offended him. But he didn’t seem offended, merely surprised and his eyes were slightly widened when returning my gaze. A small smile appeared for a second and he huffed, amused.

“You really think this is the time and the place for kisses? You’re more inclined to danger than I first thought. Luckily Moriarty can’t see us right now.”

I returned his smile, letting my eyes fall to his swollen lips, wanting to taste them again.

“Well, I figured the opportunity was now. Who knows if I’ll ever get another chance? We might be dead tomorrow.”

He rose his eyebrows, surprised.

“And you want to waste your precious twenty-four hours kissing me and thus amplifying the danger we are already in? Impressive, doctor Watson.”

“Oh, stop calling me that. It’s John. It’s always been John. And I don’t consider it a waste to do something I’ve been longing to do for a long time now.”

He smirked and it set off a flutter inside me, seeing him seemingly happy for the first in a long time.

“Hope it was worth it then.”

I opened my mouth to reply when he suddenly put his index finger to his lips and shushed me.  
A second later I could hear the sound of steps against the gravel from someone walking by. 

My heart immediately began to beat faster in my chest and instinctively we both leaned closer together while waiting for the person outside to pass. We were so close that I could feel his breath coming off in small puffs against my face, those mesmerising eyes displaying every colour they contained vividly in front of me.  
The urge to kiss him again was imminent and when we heard the steps disappear I did just that.  
Quick and soft and with all my intensions behind it. 

This time I broke it off first.

“You really are walking a thin line with that kissing business,” he whispered but to my relief he sounded rather pleased. 

“High praise from someone who thought it would be a good idea to infiltrate a master criminal’s lair for fun and excitement. “

He shrugged my comment off, changing the subject, easily slipping back into business mode.

“We need to get going. They seem to have finished with Moran or someone has just remembered that more guards are needed on the premises. Whatever the case, we’re beginning stage two this afternoon.”

I grabbed him by the arms, shaking my head.

“I don’t like it. It goes against every instinct I have. Both as a doctor but also as a human being. Too many uncertain factors.”

“Yes, but dying here goes against every instinct _I_ have. So, it’s happening. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Despite the determination in his voice, him probably believing his own words, I wasn’t as sure. 

This part of the plan was much more unpredictable, as well as containing an element of danger, more so than what we had done previously.  
It wasn’t just Moriarty who could be the death of him this time, he could very well cause it on his own and I didn’t know if I could ever forgive myself if something went wrong. 

But at the same time I could see that there was no reasoning with him, he was going to do this, no matter what, and I could do nothing to prevent him.

“At four o’clock precisely I’ll put the plan into action so make sure you’re seen to be sitting in your treatment room, far away from events. Before that, you need to have summoned me for an examination, preferably sometime between two or three o clock. Make sure to put everything I need within good reach so I can easily nick it during the examination, perhaps on one of those medicine carts you have in there? It will look too suspicious if I have to go searching through your cupboards. I already managed to get my hands on a syringe last night so I only really need the vial. When the call comes for your presence, don’t overreact until you see me. Remember that you are not to suspect _anything_ and you don’t know what scenario you’re facing until you see it yourself. If possible, try whipping up a panic frenzy about the situation, catching them off guard. If they are truly shaken, they will do as you say without thinking too closely. If the ginger one is present, try addressing him primarily, he’s new and still easily duped into doing your bidding. Just don’t give anyone any opportunity to think!” 

“And what if Moriarty shows up? It’s likely he will be watching you like hawk after last night.”

“Let him watch. Just react like you would be if seeing something like this in your normal line of work. With the added touch of worry on account of caring for me more than you would a random patient of course. Make him believe the scenario, that’s the most important. Don’t overdo anything or try to hold back, just react accordingly but make sure to emphasize the severity of the situation. “

“Oh, so I care about you now, do I?” I said, amusement in my tone.  
He really was too cocky sometimes. Or most of the time actually.

His lips twitched, supressing a smile, trying to stay composed and serious.

“I believe that you do. Evidence suggests it.”

“What evidence is that then?”

“If I had to recite them all we would still be here by noon. You can prove me wrong when we get out of here, if you still feel the need to.”

I looked into his eyes, searching for a sign of him manipulating me like he had been before. I didn’t know him well enough to know for sure, his steady gaze met mine without hesitation but experience had taught me that he could lie through his teeth without batting an eyelid.  
I just really wanted to trust him, believe that we were both getting out of here alive and that perhaps…later, when this was over… 

He broke eye contact first and a bit disappointed I turned my eyes away as well. 

But then I changed my mind and turned them back on him again.  
I knew that we were running out of time but an opportunity like this would not be available for us again. Not until we made it out of here.

If we did manage it… 

So grabbing the chance when offered I asked what had been on my mind since finding that I couldn’t let my thoughts of him just disappear.  
Whatever the answer was, putting kisses and manipulated sexual teasing aside, I only wanted to know one thing. 

“Do you have someone you care for, waiting for you on the outside? A girlfriend or a boyfriend perhaps? Someone special?”

He gave me an incredulous look and I felt a hint of satisfaction seeing him stumped for once.

“You want to talk about significant others _now_?”

“Might never get the chance later.”

“If you want to know, deduce it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“But it’s the one you’re going to get. Now, we need to get moving. Moriarty might be looking for us. We can’t be seen together, so I’ll slip out of here while you remain seated for another five minutes. Then you leave as well. See you in the examination room this afternoon, if not before. Bye, John.”

With that he rose and disappeared through the door.

 

I remained sitting on the floor for a minute longer before rising as well, seating myself properly, like I had been doing earlier.  
I used the time to analyse his answer while waiting for the appropriate time to have passed for me to get going.

Deduce it?

Like he did? 

I decided to give it a go while I waited for my five minutes to be up.

At first it felt like any option could be possible.  
He was beautiful and clever, people would automatically be drawn to him and with that air of danger and excitement about him, many would surely be enticed to have him, me included. 

But then, on the other hand, he seemed a bit clueless about common decent behaviour, a bit cold and calculating, ready to manipulate and lie when it suited him, and acting seemed to run in his blood.  
A person like that wasn’t likely to form close relationships with people, he probably looked out for himself and his own interests foremost. His fake relationship with Charles Magnussen was proof of that.  
He wasn’t above using romance and sex to get what he wanted, I had experienced that myself and he had certainly done a number on Magnussen, even going so far as to get engaged to the man to reach his goals. 

And besides, wouldn’t a possible partner of Sherlock’s be worried by now?  
As far as I had heard there had only been his brother and Magnussen being concerned about his whereabouts.  
On the other hand, his brother had been in on the initial plan and a partner of Sherlock’s might be as well and would consequently not be worried on account of not knowing that he was in any actual danger. 

Then there was the kiss between us to be considered. Two kisses to be exact. 

Sure, I had been the instigator of those, but he hadn’t protested, and he had even seemed a bit pleased.  
Or maybe my own feelings were clouding my judgement?  
Perhaps he had simply not wanted to risk aggravating me by turning down my advances?

The more I thought about the answer to my question, the more confused I became and finally I gave up. There was no way for me to know for sure. Not when we were in this situation and depended on one another. 

Furthermore, I didn’t have his deduction skills.  
I could hear him scoff at that statement, he would probably accuse me of not observing facts carefully enough, but truth remained, there was only one like him and I simply didn’t have his gifts. 

I found myself wishing that I would get the opportunity to have an answer to my question later but for now I needed to focus on what lay ahead of us.

 

When I returned to the house I was caught immediately by one of the servants.

“Mr Moriarty requests your presence in his office, Doctor Watson.”

Sighing deeply inwardly I steeled myself for whatever questions he might have.  
I had been prepared for him wanting to talk to me, he had said as much last night, but no one was ever truly prepared for a talk with that man.  
And this time Sebastian wouldn’t be there as a buffer either. The thought of him sent a shiver down my spine. I wondered if Sherlock had been right about his fate and if so, if the body was still in the house somewhere.

Moriarty was seated behind his desk in the same room where I had first met him. It felt like ages ago with everything that had happened after that initial meeting.  
In reality the time span wasn’t really that long, just a couple of weeks, but this house and it’s occupants were eating away at my perception of both time and reality, making me feel like I had been trapped in here for ages.

Unlike during that first meeting when he had seemed light-hearted and gleeful, he now looked tired and severe. Signs of too little sleep made his features look pinched and even the suit he wore was a sombre dark grey piece.  
But otherwise he looked like himself, black hair combed back in a slick style, hands intertwined in front of him and not a sign of any distress after last night's event.

It felt like he had been waiting for me, he didn’t have his computer on and no papers in front of him. He was simply sitting there, looking at me when I entered.

I seated myself in the chair opposite him and waited for him to begin.  
But he just looked at me, quietly. 

Nervously I couldn’t help but fidget with my hands lying in my lap, having difficulty meeting his eyes.  
They were unfathomably dark, like molten chocolate, almost no white visible, just huge dark orbs staring at me from the paleness of his face. It felt like being in the presence of a predator and even if I prided myself with not being easily rattled, he made me very uncomfortable and cautious.

When the silence just continued I finally felt forced to break it by being the first to speak.

“You asked to see me, Mr Moriarty?”

I was searching my mind for something, _anything_ , to say while he just kept looking at me. 

For a second I wondered if he had brought me here because he had figured it all out. 

Maybe he has seen something that didn’t add up? Or maybe Sebastian had managed to convince him of his innocence?  
Maybe he even knew about Sherlock’s true escape plan the other night? The one where I had been standing with my trousers around my ankles in a garage, hoping for a snog with this man’s precious prisoner while Sherlock in reality had managed to not only steal a car but also break out of this place. 

It would have been stupid of Sebastian to reveal that incident but on the other hand, if he had sensed that his time was up anyway, he might have felt inclined to haul us down with him.  
He must have known that I had betrayed him while being dragged off by Moriarty’s men, that Sherlock had set him up wasn’t even disputable.  
No, he must have felt everything falling apart around him, seeing our roles in his downfall clearly, but the question was if he had managed to tell Moriarty about it. 

The way Moriarty was looking at me now certainly implied it.  
On the other hand I wasn’t going to reveal anything until I knew exactly what knowledge, if any, my employer had of the situation.

For a second my whole body froze when the thought struck me that he had perhaps seen our kiss in the gazebo earlier.  
Sherlock had said that surveillance was low on account of everyone probably being busy with Sebastian but that was just an assumption. What if those steps we had heard outside had been Moriarty or someone who had reported back to him that we were in there, canoodling on the floor? 

Dread was getting a firm grip of my insides as that thought hit me and I just hoped that I wasn’t giving any of those thoughts away by involuntary expressions or body language. I wasn’t the actor Sherlock was, I was frankly a terrible liar and I had no way of knowing if I was radiating guilt and dread at this moment despite trying to remain completely still. 

To divert him from looking at me even closer and to break the spell of fear that was threatening to paralyze me, I continued to talk, trying to sound as stern and precise as I had always prided myself of being able to be, when on the field. Outwardly I was as firm as a rock.

“I understand that you must have questions and please, feel free to ask them and I will answer them according to my abillity. But keep in mind that I am as stumped as the rest of us and I haven’t had the chance to properly talk to Mr Holmes about last nights incident yet. I figured he needed the rest and that there would be time for questions later…”

I cut myself off, not knowing how to proceed. 

Moriarty hadn’t even blinked during my speech and this time I decided to wait for him to take the next step. I was just going to dig my own hole if continuing. 

Another agonisingly slow minute passed until he finally spoke, probably determining that I wasn’t going to provide any more information unprompted.

“You and I haven’t really talked that much, have we, Doctor Watson?”

“Erm, I…we have, when seeing each other… but…” I tried, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Not properly. I’m sure Moran filled in some gaps and the rest you must have pieced together on your own. Frankly I don’t usually involve _staff_ with my intentions and plans, not even the late Moran knew everything. He was too affected by his own feelings and resentments anyway, there was no reason for him to know it all.”

He stopped and leaned forward slightly, doing that thing with his neck that made him look like a reptile. I had to steel myself from leaning away from him, remaining impassive in the chair. 

“But I can see now that I might have missed something when choosing not to have taken the time to really talk. You see, when I have someone like Sherlock as my companion, all others quickly pale in comparison, you simply can’t compete with someone like him when it comes to keeping me interested and entertained. Moran knew that and he resented it. He made no show of hidings his feelings either, but to go from pedestrian feelings like resentment to lashing out in a way that caused what I saw on Sherlock’s body last night, that’s a huge step. A step I didn’t think he had in him, as it clearly defied any orders I had given him about how to treat our imprisoned guest and he very well knew what breaking my orders would entail.” 

Here he stopped again, those dark eyes drilling holes in mine, as if searching for some hidden truths in them. I did my best to remain unaffected. 

“What I had been told about earlier events were that you and Sherlock had an altercation. I saw the video, enjoyed the punching and understand the sentiment behind it. You acted out of fear and anger, he could have caused you real harm if succeeding, but luckily for you it was a feeble attempt and you caught him before managing to get anywhere. Please tell me, Doctor Watson, what exactly was he trying to do that evening when you caught him trying to escape?” 

We hadn’t really decided on what our story was going to be, Sebastian and I. Sherlock hadn’t even been a part of it at all, but if questioned by Moriarty on the subject he surely had to say something, as being the instigator of an escape plan. I had no idea what exactly Moriarty had seen on the recordings, except me punching Sherlock and I had to come up with something quickly now. 

"Well, he was trying to steal my access card to the garage. It was pure luck that I caught him because he had apparently acquired the keys to a car earlier from somewhere and was planning on getting out of here. When I searched him and found the car keys and understood what he was planning to do, I’m afraid I lost it and hit him.” 

Moriarty hummed and narrowed his eyes. I felt uncertain if he believed me or not, even his voice conveyed nothing. 

“Unfortunately, the one in charge of surveillance seems to have had a habit of editing out pieces he, for reasons only know to him, didn’t want everyone to see, so your story can not be corroborated by evidence of the scenario leading up to you lashing out at him. But I can concede that it sounds plausible. That dear Sherlock would try to take advantage of your hankering is hardly novel, it’s what he does, what he excels at. Remember how you were warned about that in the beginning? But fine, I understand it. He truly is irresistible when he wants to be. Keeping in mind that he _is_ mine of course. He is not likely to have any real interest in a lap dog like you, but considering last night’s events and Moran’s disloyalty it might well to be repeated. _Hands off._ You’ll get away with punching him this one time, but not again.” 

I nodded, not wanting to aggravate him further by trying to explain myself. 

“To emphasize that point I might inform you that the bodyguard Mr Magnussen thought had run away with his fiancé a few weeks ago has now been brought back to his former emplOyer. He’s very possessive, our Charles and very much a revengeful man. Well, who can blame him if you consider what he had in his possession?” 

He stopped, seeking my reaction, but I wasn’t going to comply and when conceding that he continued his speach. 

“Anyway, that bodyguard’s life is being torn apart by my Danish companion right as we speak. We know the truth of course, he had nothing to do with Sherlock’s disappearance, but the mere hint that he might have done something is enough to be thoroughly punished for. And on that account I find that I share Mr Magnussen’s feelings. I’ll do more than just rip a person’s life apart if I suspect that someone is trying to deceive me or take what is mine.” 

Another jerk of his head. I could almost hear his neck snap. It was like sitting in front a terrarium, watching the reptile inside move, but unfortunately there was no glass wall between him and me.  
The Irish lilt had made a reappearance while talking, stronger then earlier, as if having gotten something important off his chest and now changing subjects yet again. 

“Even if you haven’t talked to Sherlock today, I find it surprising that you didn’t notice injuries as severe as the ones he had, before his collapse. He was examined by you earlier during the day, I’m told. Yet again the tapes from that instance have been deleted and it makes me wonder if Moran was simply cautious or if something on that feed actually showed his injuries.” 

“No!” I exclaimed firmly, perhaps a bit too forcefully, while remembering how I had tried to take a look at his abdomen, but Sherlock had pushed away my hands.  
He had been protecting me from a scenario like this apparently.  
Like always he was several steps ahead in planning. 

“I don’t know why Moran deleted that video feed, perhaps he was worried and did it out of precaution, but I assure you, I only took a look at Mr Holmes’s face then. I didn’t know that he was injured anywhere else so I saw no reason to do a more thorough examination. And he didn’t say anything about it himself. I had no idea.” 

“That’s the other thing. An assault like that, why would Sherlock keep quiet about it? There was no love lost between those two and despite being threatened, which I’m sure Moran must have done, Sherlock Holmes would have no interest in protecting him. Why didn’t he tell you?” 

I shook my head. 

“I don’t know. But perhaps….despite me treating him from his drug abuse, we were on bad terms after I had punched him, we even argued as late as yesterday afternoon. He probably felt like he didn’t have anyone to turn to, I guess. Which saddens me of course, because as his doctor he should know that he can always talk to me.” 

“Don’t get carried away with that doctor-business. You’re not _his_ doctor, you’re _my_ employee. My needs come first, and I don’t want you to form some sort of bond with him. Not that he would let you, but still, don’t entertain those types of ideas. You’re as much a prisoner here as he is, except his value is much higher than yours. But you have grasped that fact, I’m sure, you’re not completely hapless after all.” 

He sighed and leaned back in his chair again. 

“You’ve done a good job so far. Now that Moran is no longer with us I might need you to take over some of his chores for a while. You said earlier that you knew how to handle a weapon, and that is good. Because you never know when that might come in handy. But for now you are to proceed your duties as previously, care for him, help him to heal as quickly as possible. I have plans to leave this place soon and he needs to be able to make the journey.” 

“Yes, I’ll do my best. Luckily he had no punctured lungs or anything too severe, he will need to take it easy and regain his strength. I’ll examine him after lunch after he has had his rest and gotten some food in him.” 

Moriarty opened up a drawer next to him, producing a folder which he laid out on the desk between us. 

“That’s sounds good. I’ll be lunching with him today and will make sure that he eats properly. You do your magic and I will do mine. As a reminder of how your loyalties should be dispensed…” 

He opened up the folder, revealing a stack of enlarged pictures inside, pushing them towards me. 

“…I ask you to take a look at these. A little advice, that’s all. Pictures always makes such a strong case, don’t they? Being so graphic after all.” 

I looked down on the fanned out collection showing a bleeding Moran in various states of abuse.  
One of the pictures showed one of his eyes missing, another one displayed a bleeding sore where presumably his tongue had once been.  
The final picture was of a dead man.  
Despite it being just a picture, it was very clear that he was no longer alive, the one remaining eye looking back at me without seeing. Unfocused. A cold empty stare into nothingness.  
Despite having seen plenty of dead people in my life, many in almost as bad a shape as Sebastian Moran in these pictures, this was far worse. 

Because I had indirectly caused this. 

Together with Sherlock we had sealed his fate and only hours earlier he had still been living and breathing. The many times I had spent talking to him hit me with full force. At times he had been the only sane person in here, someone I had felt a connection to despite him working for the wrong team. 

Now he was simply this pulp of blood and tissue, not to be grieved by anyone, simply posing as a warning example for any future employees in Moriarty’s household. 

I couldn’t help but stare at the final picture and feel a lump forming in my throat.  
This was what could be waiting for me if our plan failed and Moriarty ever found out about my part in all of this.  
If he discovered that I had kissed Sherlock, that I had fooled him into thinking that Sebastian had assaulted Sherlock sexually, that we were planning to escape this place in a mere couple of hours. If we didn’t make it, this would be me.  
And possibly Sherlock as well, eventually, when Moriarty was done with whatever plans he had for him. 

I closed the folder and nodded. 

“Understood and duly noted, Mr Moriarty.” 

“Good. Scamper off now, I have things to do before lunch, but be sure to keep me informed of how he fares after the examination. I want my favourite plaything to be in the best shape possible. I have waited long enough now for him to begin playing with me, my patience is beginning to wear a bit thin. “ 

The urge to punch his straight in his grinning face was as overwhelming as the urge I had felt to kiss Sherlock earlier. But unlike then I didn't yield to it. Not yet. One day I was going to give this monster what he deserved, but for now it had to wait. I rose and nodded in his direction before heading for the door. 

I went back to my room and threw myself on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, head still spinning with everything I had been through this morning, both good and decidedly bad. What had I gotten myself into? 

This plan had so many weaknesses it was practically a leaking sieve, the biggest risk being that Sherlock actually died while trying to get us out of here.  
The other scenario was that we got caught and ended up back in here. 

Sherlock had made it out once and we had both survived that experience, this time we were not going to be as lucky if we failed. 


	22. Initiating escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second part of John and Sherlock's plan is set in motion.

I had to eat lunch on my own while Moriarty and Sherlock ate together in the dining room. 

I wondered how the conversation between them went. If things happened according to plan it would be the last time they were going be together on their own.  
That felt reassuring considering the danger Moriarty was posing on all of us. Sebastian was already gone now, and we would most likely only have this one chance to escape his destiny. 

I ordered a servant to fetch Sherlock to the treatment room for an examination by two o'clock, making a swift affair of it.  
I had followed his instructions to put what he needed on the medicine cart, to be easily nicked. I never saw him do it and assumingly he knew what he was doing, being able to achieve it without getting caught by the cameras. At least no one came rushing in on account of him having been caught steeling. I simply observed that the vial was gone after he had left. 

I gave him a bottle of pain killers with a hidden note inside, imploring him to be careful and not go rogue on our plans, I could only pray that he would read it and understand my worry. Despite being so intelligent he had a way of rushing head first into danger, damn the consequences. It seemed like I would have to be his voice of reason, hopefully in the future as well.

I watched him go, knowing that I wouldn’t see him until show time.  
If he failed somehow, misjudging the dose, this would be the final time I saw him alive.  
I wished that I could have kissed him or at least say a few encouring words, but I could feel the cameras watching us, making it impossible to do anything. It even felt reasonable to assume that Moriarty himself was watching us now.

I remained in the treatment room, pretending to keep busy, waiting for things to kick into action.  
It was excruciating, time seemed to move even slower than usual, reminding me of being stuck in school as a child, waiting for recess to begin. 

For a moment I tried immersing myself in a book and although ending up reading the same passage three or four times it gave me something to do, and when the alarm finally came, in the shape of a red-haired man bursting in and ordering in upset tones that I needed to come quickly, my body and mind aligned to focus, making me both calm and sure enough to do my best to pull this off.

The red-haired man was worried already from the get-go, eyes wide and unable to clearly describe what the situation was. As I already knew more or less what was waiting for me when reaching the destination of our hurried sprint through the house, I could at least use his desperate ramblings to yank up my own levels of frustration. I needed to act the part of worried doctor after all. 

“It’s Holmes, he’s not breathing…” the redhead explained while we rushed up the stairs, stethoscope ready in my hand.

“Have you checked his pulse?”

“No but…he looks like he aint breathing. I swear, we ran there as soon as he passed out and.... well, he's not responding!”

“Is he bleeding?”

“Not that I could see. But I ran to fetch you as soon as we couldn’t wake him. Hurry, Doctor Watson! The boss will kill us all if he dies!”  
There was true terror in his voice and I wondered if he had been present when Sebastian had met his fate. If so I could understand his fear, Sherlock Holmes was at the moment the most precious thing in this house.

The door to the guestroom next to mine was wide open and even before entering it I could see that it was crowded.  
Three guards, Sherlock on the floor and Moriarty on his knees next to him.  
His hand was on Sherlock's neck, trying to feel for a pulse and when unable to find one, he pushed the body in front of him hard, as if willing it to spring alive. 

Turning his head, spotting me, he sprang up from his position and yelled at me to do something.

Sherlock’s orders for me to try and fire up a panic didn’t seem necessary as Moriarty was doing a fine job of that himself at the moment. 

“Can someone please inform me about what has happened here?” I said firmly while bending down, doing my own check up of his vitals.  
His pulse was indeed as good as gone and I silently prayed that it was as it should and not on account of him actually dying.  
As a doctor I had heard of this method years ago, when travelling and encountering all kinds of medical mumbo jumbo as well as local medicine and treatments, but I had never encountered it in reality, thinking of it more in the terms of a zombie drug or a quirky detail in a movie perhaps.  
Sherlock, being a chemist, had also heard of this method of slowing down the pulse temporarily by using tetrodotoxin. I had questioned the safety of using this particular method, pointing out that a witch doctor in Haiti might now what to do with it but a consulting detective from England probably would not. That had earned me one of his haughtiest glares as well as a hissed out: _I am chemist graduate from Cambridge, for God’s sake!_

“Really? And this is how you choose to spend that knowledge? On using Zombie cocktails and faking your own death?”

“Will it shut you up if using a Zombie cocktail gets us out of here?”

“Probably. Just don’t die for real.”

“I’ll do my best,” he had said, rolling his eyes at me as if dealing with a mother hen. 

Having that conversation fresh in mind I did my best not think about the risks involved, that he actually didn’t know what he was doing, that he had perhaps taken a too high dose, that it was possibly poisoning him with a nerve venom while we were all circled around his body, no one being able to truly help him. The fact that he had felt the need to tell me about a famous Japanese actor who had died from ingesting to much of the poison while eating a puffer fish didn’t do me any favours regarding my fears for his welfare. 

“Well?!” Moriarty positively roared when no reply came from the panicked guards around him. Evidently it wasn’t just the red-haired newcomer who felt paralyzed with passivity at the moment. The events with Sebastian Moran had probably put a strain on them as it were. Combined with the events from last night, when discovering Sherlock’s injuries, and now this, his lifeless body on the floor, as well as the presence of their dangerous and deranged boss, it would be too much for most people, myself included. I at least had the benefit of knowing more about the situation than they did.

Starting to life, one of the guards tried telling me that they had, from the surveillance room, seen Sherlock keel over from his bed where he had been resting, falling down to the floor. When remaining motionless they had rushed over here, trying to wake him up, and when failing that had sent for me. 

“Mr Moriarty came while we were fetching you. “

“ _Do_ something! Is he dying?” Moriarty yelled at me and I did my best trying to do everything I could to revive my patient.  
Moving quickly I turned towards the redhead and told him determinedly to call for an ambulance. The guard, to his credit, didn’t hesitate, pulling up his phone but Moriarty made a stopping gesture with his hand.

“An ambulance? Can’t you fix this here?”

“No! We’re in a hurry, otherwise we might risk losing him. Regarding his pulse and his low respiratory rate we can’t hesitate, he needs help straight away! Dial now!”

The final words were directed at the redhead. 

“But what is wrong with him? He was fine during lunch?” Moriarty objected, seemingly unable to grasp what was happening. It would have been funny to see him so clueless and out of control for once, if the situation hadn't been as serious as it was.

“I don’t know! Perhaps a cardiac arrest, perhaps an internal bleeding, maybe something else. I’ll need to perform CPR on him, and you all need to give me the space to do so! Now!”

I took charge of the situation and perhaps it was the authoritarian tone in my voice or perhaps it was the severity of the situation that resulted in everyone stepping back to give me the necessary room. 

I bent over his mouth, trying not to focus on how those lips had felt under mine, but instead on how to breathe life into him, and then pressing my hands firmly over his chest, trying to kickstart his heart. I hoped this wouldn’t have a negative effect on his body, considering the drug pumping in his blood at the moment. I had no knowledge of the effects of doing this while his body was under the influence of a neurotoxin. 

“He isn’t dead, not yet. But he needs immediate help. How is that emergency call going?” I snapped. The red-haired man glanced uncertainly at Moriarty who looked at me but then conceded defeat, nodding for his guard to make the call. 

“But no names, no details except the address here. Understood?” he ordered, then turning towards me again.

“Won’t he suffer from brain damage if being without a pulse for this long? Is it actually too late already?”

I shook my head, trying to convince myself as well as him that this was not the case now, at least not yet. 

“No. There is still hope. He has a weak pulse and a shallow respiration. But the fact that we can’t get contact with him is worrying and without knowing what caused this, the best we can do is rush him to the hospital. If I go with him we can step around the fact that he doesn’t have an ID. I’m his doctor, that will get us past that obstacle initially. The difficult part will be when he is out of immediate danger, but we’ll figure that out when we get there. Focus needs to be on getting him under care as soon as possible, Mr Moriarty. Otherwise, he will actually die.”

“I want to go with you in the ambulance.”

“You won’t be allowed. Only relatives and medical staff. But I’ll go with him and keep you updated. You drive ahead to the hospital when we know where he is being taken.”

Moriarty didn’t look pleased but as the red-haired guard began talking to emergency staff behind his back he conceded temporary defeat, focusing on the man on the floor instead.

In a surprisingly gentle gesture he bent down again next to Sherlock’s lifeless form, at first just looking down at him, then reaching out his hand, pushing some wayward curls from his forehead. It was so opposite his usual behaviour that it not only surprised me but the other men in the room as well. There was something almost caring about the gesture, humanizing this monster for a second. He was clearly rattled, otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to neither calling for the ambulance or this very public display of affection. 

Meanwhile the redhead passed the phone over to me while having initiated contact with the emergency number. I told them the about the scenario according to what I seemingly knew and ordered them to hurry, keeping my eyes on Moriarty and Sherlock.

I tried pushing down my fears, presenting an appropriately worried demeanour, expressing the severity of the situation while I secretly prayed that he wasn’t really dying for real. If Moriarty had been someone else I might have tried to say a few comforting words but as he was too unpredictable and probably wouldn’t appreciate it, I left him alone with his worries, continuing to stroke Sherlock’s hair, almost repetitively, as if calming himself down by touching the other man over and over in a slightly manic manner.

The ambulance felt like it took forever, I had to do mouth to mouth yet again while waiting, wrapping a blanket around him to keep his warmth and when the ambulance finally arrived and the house suddenly sprung alive with the intrusion of people from the outside world, it felt surreal for a moment, like someone had opened a secret door leading back home.  
Freedom was just a few steps away suddenly and yet it really wasn’t so. Not yet. 

Despite my information that he would be turned down, Moriarty tried getting into the ambulance when the crew had strapped the patient to a stretcher, moving him inside the vehicle parked outside the entrance. He was firmly denied access and for a moment I saw something dangerous flash in his eyes, so I hastily stepped between him and the ambulance crew, afraid that he would actually harm them somehow for defying him.  
My presence seemed to calm him enough to see reason and he ordered me to get in while informing me that he was going to take his own car and meet us at the hospital. 

As the patient’s doctor, with valuable information about his health and recent events and treatments, I was allowed inside and while doing so I could see Moriarty rushing off in the direction of the garage.

Before doing so he had pushed a phone in my hand.

“I want you to keep me updated about what happens during the journey to the hospital. Don’t use this an excuse to call for help, it only has a one-way communication and the phone has a GPS-tracker as well, so no funny business. I’ll be seeing you at the hospital.”

“I would never leave a patient on the brink of death to save myself!” I indignantly replied and he nodded.

“I actually believe you, Doctor Watson. You’re too loyal for your own good.”

And with those words we parted ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I'm neither a chemist or a doctor, the use of tetrodotoxin is purely for the sake of the story and not based on any scientific facts or recommendations when trying to fake a dying status.


	23. The road to nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John needs help from the ambulance crew with the final stage of the escape plan. But will he be able to convince them?

As we rushed through the late afternoon sun setting behind the trees of the forest surrounding the road we were travelling on, my focus was first to establish myself and my authority on the paramedic sitting beside Sherlock, doing his best to increase both pulse and respiratory function on his patient.  
As I had no idea where Moriarty and his men were, in cars following us or already heading to the hospital before the ambulance, and with no way of contacting him since the phone he had given me was basically for him to track our movements and call me for information, I felt like I had to make my own decisions on how to do this, as my partner in this was currently lying on a stretcher unconscious.

“Can you talk me through the situation, Doctor Watson?” the paramedic said, still not really having looked at me, his full focus on Sherlock.  
The best chance we had was my trusting appearance according to Sherlock, because the story we were serving up would make most people not only baffled but outright suspicious and as I had neither a weapon or any evidence to strengthen my case I only had myself and the way I presented this to rely on.  
If we made it to the hospital it would simply turn one prison into the next, Moriarty would hardly let us out of his sight, so the only option was to somehow convince the ambulance workers to co-operate with me and help us escape before we got there.

But I also knew that it was down to me sounding reliable, being able to pursuade them to let us go and I wasn’t sure I could pull it off now when the time was actually here. My first move had to be to get his attention on me instead of on Sherlock so I cleared my throat and spoke. 

“There is no use for you to do anything more with him at the moment. Either he is perfectly fine and don’t need any medical assistance or he is as good as dead and further medical help will be too late. “ I tried to sound as calm as possible even if the words were sending shivers down my spine. There was no time to think about how true they were, my focus had to be on getting us out of here.

The paramedic snapped his head up from where it was hovering over Sherlock, staring straight at me now, confusion in his eyes.  
He was a young man, younger than me and first appearance would suggest he was a novice in his line of work but the look he gave me told me that was far from the truth, indignation combined with confusion brimming over while he narrowed his eyes while staring me down.

“What exactly are you talking about? This man has hardly a pulse to speak of and his breathing is so shallow I can’t imagine either blood or lungs are getting their sufficient share of oxygen.”

“That is on purpose.”

I tried sounding professional despite feeling anything but. I was glad I had the experience of putting on my medical persona even when under stress, seemingly appearing to be in full control of the situation.

“He has been injected with a substance that has put him in this state…”

“By who?” the other man interrupted but I shook my head holding up my hand to try calming him down. 

“I’ll get to that. Just…just, try hearing me out first. We don’t have a lot of time, when we reach the city our chances will get more limited and if we actually make it to the hospital it will be too late altogether. So please, hear me out despite whatever I might say will sounds like, I understand that it will be difficult to grasp and even more so to actually believe what I have to say, but please?”

I gave him my most trustworthy look, the one my mother had always told me helped me be alright in the world, on account of people feeling a connection to me. It had helped me with patients and their families over the years, with my teachers when I had managed to oversleep for an exam but still was allowed to follow through, and most recently it had helped me survive in the terrible house that had been my prison for the past weeks, making both Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty trust me despite the fact I was sneaking around plotting with Sherlock right under their noses.  
It wasn’t an act I put on exactly, not like Sherlock who pulled out all his acting skills and made drama out of every available scenario, I really was a trustworthy person deep down. The skill lay more in my ability to actually show it off in a way that made other people believe it and hear my words when I spoke.  
Despite that, I didn’t always succeed and I usually had more time cementing my trustworthiness than this very limited time span.

“That man lying on the stretcher, his name is Sherlock Holmes…” I began.

This time the paramedic’s eyes widened immediately.

“The kidnapping victim?”

I was thrown off for a second, having pushed that scenario out of my mind some time ago and not really thinking it would being something to end up on the actual news, but when you considered the man Sherlock had been engaged to, it wasn’t surprising really. How Magnussen had handled the media when being fed new information by Moriarty about the bodyguard had made me suspect that he must have somehow tried to down-play the incident on account of his own pride, but perhaps not. Perhaps, in the world outside the house, this was an actual news story.

“Ahem, well sort of. I mean, it _is_ him, but I don’t know what the press have been saying so I don’t really know if it is exactly like you imagine it…”

I stopped, a thought suddenly hitting me. Maybe this could work to our advantage? If this man was convinced that Sherlock actually was a kidnapping victim, that could surely be in our favour? Even if he wasn’t the kidnapping victim the press had presented him to be, he was still a captive of sorts.

I looked down on the paramedic’s name tag. Ollie it said. Time to give our connection a more personal touch.

“Look, Ollie…may I call you Ollie?”

He just nodded, still too puzzled to do anything else and I had to work fast if I wanted to keep him on the right side of confused and not yet suspicious.

“I'm John. You don't need to call me Doctor Watson, no one is pulling rank here. What exactly is it the papers are saying?”

“I have only seen a clip or two on the news and online but that Sherlock guy was a husband or boyfriend or something to that Scandi man with the glasses, don’t remember his exact name…”

“Magnussen?” I offered and Ollie nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right! It was on the news a while ago that this Sherlock bloke had disappeared, been kidnapped or something. There was a burnt-out car in the woods and everything. It was everywhere for a while but it has died down a bit lately, so I sort of forgot about it until you said the name. _Sherlock Holmes_. It’s unusual enough to remember isn’t it? Is this really him?”

"Yes."

I could see the second the excitement suddenly died in his eyes, instead turning dark and apprehensive. 

“Are you part of the kidnapping gang?"

"What? No!"

But Ollie clearly wasn't convinced.

"That man who tried getting in the ambulance earlier, he’s part of it as well, isn't he? He was extremely pushy about going with us, like he didn't want to leave him out of his sight. ”

I held up my hands, trying to stop him from drawing any more conclusions that would lead us in the wrong direction but he was already wary now and was turning towards his co-worker who was driving the ambulance and who had not heard a word on account of the wall between him and us. But there was an intercom button just within Ollie’s reach and he was clearly contemplating using it now.  
I needed to stop him.

“Listen, Ollie! You have misunderstood, let me explain first! Just hear me out, and if you still think it’s suspicious you can talk to you colleague and decide what to do. But what I need right now is you for you to listen, because time is running out.”

“You said he wasn’t in any danger.”

“Not in any physical danger. At least I hope he isn’t. Like I said, he’s been injected by a serum, but you know how it is, a small miscalculation and things can go terribly wrong. But as long as there’s any sort of vital sign on that monitor of yours I am counting on him being fine. But he won’t be for long if you don’t hear me out and help us!”

I patted my pockets and showed him the inside of my coat so he could see that I wasn't carrying any weapons.

"See, I'm not even armed. What kind of kidnapper doesn't have a weapon on him? You are in no danger, I promise you."

Ollie was clearly not convinced by a long shot but at least he remained where he was, not trying to reach for the intercom button and I continued to talk to him with my calm and patient voice.

“You’re right about him being a kidnapping victim. Not exactly like the media has put it, or rather Mr Magnussen, but it doesn’t really matter. He has been kept as a prisoner in the house you were called to today and suffered some abuse while being kept there, as you can see on his face and abdomen. I have also been kept in that house for several weeks, even longer than he in fact. The man who tried riding with us in the ambulance is indeed the head of this operation, an extremely dangerous man, mostly likely armed and rattled enough to do absolutely anything to keep this man in his violence. What we need now is help getting out of here, away from him, preferably just by dumping us somewhere down the road…”

“What?” Ollie gave me an incredulous look.

“The vehicle can’t really stop for more than a few seconds as this phone that I am carrying has a GPS tracker planted inside it and he will notice any suspicious activities on it, I will leave it in the ambulance as you drive off and hopefully that ruse will buy us sufficient time to make our escape wherever you decide to dump us.”

“That sounds idiotic. How are you supposed to get away? He’s unconscious and you will be in the middle of nowhere without either a phone or any other way of getting help? Are you to carry him on your back or what? Frankly, this doesn’t make any sense.”

Yet again his face changed, but this time, instead of turning even more suspicious there was, to my huge surprise, suddenly mirth in his eyes.

“Oh, this is a prank, isn't it? Was it Cathy’s idea? Was she the one who put you up to this? Oh, she’s going to be in so much trouble when Joe finds out she used an actual ambulance for a prank!”

I sighed inwardly, this was getting us nowhere. On the other hand I could see why he would think this was all some sort of hoax. A patient injected with something mysterious, a kidnapping story to boot and then this talk of GPS-trackers, dangerous men and dumping an ill person and his companion by the road in the middle of nowhere. It all sounded like a bad episode of a EastEnders.

I grabbed his arms and he immediately tried yanking them away, his smile disappearing in an instant, being replaced by a glare instead, clearly not liking to be touched this way.

“Listen to me, Ollie! Focus! I know we don’t have much time left and I don’t have a plan for when we get out of this ambulance, but I’ll figure something out. But to be able to do that I need you to do as I say. First of all, you need to check if someone is following us. I don’t know if he has someone trailing the ambulance or if they all headed for the hospital in advance. That is the most likely scenario as he needs to secure the place so to speak, placing people so we can’t escape from there. If we actually reach the hospital, we have no chance of escaping. But if you help us with this, we might make it. I leave the phone with you so he will think that we are still in here. But first, check if there is a car behind us!”

Ollie just stared at me but as I gave him my most commanding face, he reluctantly turned to the window and looked out.

“No. There is no one there.”

In my efforts to convince him of my truth, that wasn't necesserily a good thing, a car would have corraborated my story, but on the other hand, if a car had been trailing us we would not have been able to get out of the ambulance without being spotted. 

The sudden shrill from the phone in my pocket interrupted us as if Moriarty was sensing what we were up to. I yanked it up and answered without hesitation but even before I had managed to greet him Moriarty was speaking.

“How is he? How long until you get here, what's taking so long?”

“He’s the same. Not worse but not better either. He’s alive at least.”

I turned to Ollie.

“How long until we get to the hospital?” 

“Ten minutes until we reach London, then perhaps an additional ten minutes, less if we are lucky with traffic.”

I winced at his phrasing of us being lucky if reaching the destination earlier, but it was probably all just out of habit for him.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Moriarty.

“Yes. But how come they aren’t being able to do anything? Aren’t they supposed to be professionals? If he dies in that ambulance I will put the whole vehicle on fire with everyone still in it!”

His high-pitched voice flowed out into the small area we were occupying, and I could se from Ollie’s shocked look that he had heard Moriarty’s threat. 

“I’m waiting at the hospital, just hurry! And Doctor Watson, your head is on the chopping block as well, if he doesn’t make it. Keep that in mind.”

“Believe me, I already know,” I muttered but he had already disconnected the call.

“Jeez, who _is_ he?”

“Like I said, a very dangerous man. We need your help and quickly. As you said, within ten minutes we reach London and he has men working all over the city as well as the fact that everything is under CCTV-survillance, making it much more difficult to hide, we need to disappear before that!”

“But I can’t just dump you here, in the middle of nowhere, especially not him!" He nodded in Sherlock's direction. "Can’t we just drop you off, you call for help and come rescue him afterwards?”

“No, it won’t work. If I leave him now I will never see him again even if I manage to put myself in safety. He will be shipped off, out of reach and then there will be no way of finding him again.”

“That man, his husband…”

“Fiancé,” I interjected.

“Yes, Magnussen. He seems rich, he must surely have resources?”

“This isn’t that kind of kidnapping. The kidnapper doesn’t want any money, he simply wants his prisoner. It wouldn’t matter how much money was being up for offer or how much resources Magnussen has, if this man wants Sherlock Holmes hidden away for ever, he can make that happen.”

Ollie looked down at Sherlock’s unconscious form.

“Is it some sort of love triangle?” he asked.

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

Ollie shrugged.

“Well, young, handsome boyfriend of older rich guy ends up kidnapped by another man who isn’t even willing to take any money for him, he just wants the person. Seems a bit…I don’t know, complicated in the love department if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean and we don’t have the time for this! You need to tell your mate who’s driving the ambulance that we need to pull over for a second. Inform him that it needs to happen quickly and that he isn’t to ask any questions. The less he knows, the better.”

“On account of us coming to the hospital with no patient in the ambulance and there is a mad man who will want to know what happened to you two? No way! I don’t want to end up face to face with someone who says he will burn down the car with us in it if he gets angry!”

I tried grabbing Ollie by the arms again to calm him down, because the pressure was beginning to unravel him.

“Tell him I threatened you, that I held a syringe to your neck or something. He won't focus on you when he discovers that his prisoners are gone.” Somewhere deep inside I wasn't completely convinced by my own words, Moriarty was extremely vindictive, as was proven with Sebastian, I could only pray that he wouldn't kill these ambulance workers out of pure anger, instead focusing on finding us, I didn't wan't more blood on my hands.  
But my pleading had no effect anyway because Ollie just shook his head vehemently. 

“No way! This is not what I signed up for when I took this job. I can call the police for you but…”

“There won’t be any time. He will have found a way by then, this is a man who had bloody MI5 in his house and walked away scot-free. He isn’t a newbie, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Doctor Watson, but there is no way I’m putting myself or my colleague in harms way on account of a stranger who asks me to dump him and his comatose friend by the side of the road. It wouldn’t be ethical, I could lose my job, my license. Not to mention my life if that guy is everything you claim he is.”

“But it’s unethical to just let a man die the way this man in front of you surely will if you don’t help us get away!” I tried but I could see that Ollie had made his mind up. He wasn’t willing to risk his own safety and career on account of the words of a stranger.

“I don’t even have proof that what you’re saying is true, you could just as well be someone on the wrong side of the law yourself. If this man is Sherlock Holmes as you claim he is, how do I know that you aren’t the true kidnapper, trying to get away with him?”

I sighed and drew my hand over my face. The initial ten minutes were up by now and just by glancing out the window I could see that the country landscape was behind us and we had entered London. 

As much as I hated accepting defeat it seemed like I had no choice and whatever happened next would happen despite my efforts. Sherlock would surely be so disappointed when he finally did wake up. If he actually ever did. 

Ollie didn’t say anything further to me and as we five minutes later drove up to the emergency area of the hospital I could se Moriarty impatiently awaiting our arrival. I sighed and prepared myself mentally for whatever would happen when we entered the hospital. 

The last thing I did before the ambulance pulled to a stop, was to bend down over Sherlock and give him a kiss on his pale lips. I didn't care what Ollie thought of it.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

And then the doors to the ambulance opened.


	24. Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft learns of Moriarty being in town and makes a decision that puts John in unknown territory.

Mycroft Holmes was still in his office despite the clock having surpassed five pm and most people were either on their way home, in their clubs or out otherwise socialising. Mycroft usually never cared for what time it was, his work demanded that time was nothing but a number, he was always available. So naturally it was of no importance that the sun was setting outside his window and the halls around him were more or less empty of people. His PA was still there of course but as he had no pressing matters on his agenda at the moment he was thinking of sending her home when the very woman appeared in his doorway, phone in her hand as usual, but her face conveying that something important had happened.

Instead of going through the unnecessary procedure of asking her about what it was she wanted, he simply gave her one of the looks that to an outsider probably would be described as nondescript but to her most certainly signalled: rapport status immediately.

“Sir, we have spotted James Moriarty outside the emergency entrance of S:t Thomas Hospital. Cameras caught him arriving there forty minutes ago, pulling up to the entrance in a car he refused to both move or step away from until three other cars arrived shortly after, four men in each vehicle. One of them took Mr Moriarty’s car and drove off with it while he and the rest went into the hospital.”

She put forward her phone where a video snippet showed exactly what she had told him, edited so he had to make do with the highlights of it. 

Mycroft contemplated this. 

Moriarty wasn’t really a serious enough player for Mycroft and his colleagues to put extra resources on. The man was skilled above the average criminal and his actions had brought some serious impact in different places around the world, but in the end, the man was still just a criminal, to good to ever get caught doing anything that would put him behind bars but still not so powerful that he became than an annoyance in the periphery and Mycroft’s work was far too important to put aside any real time and resources on someone like him. He was kept under surveillance when possible but most of Mycroft’s actions against the man stemmed from his concern for his brother’s involvement with the man.

He had been worried about Sherlock’s plan even before his impulsive younger brother had even put it in action. The lack of communication had been a huge part of his worries as well as Moriarty’s clear obsession with his brother. A man so ruthless and off his hinges when it came to basic human behaviour was not someone Mycroft wished for Sherlock to be the focus of, he had warned him about it on several occasions but had spoken to deaf ears every time. 

When Sherlock had upped the ante even further by deciding to take on Magnussen as well, Mycroft had almost wished that he could have simply sent his brother away on an extended holiday for an unforeseeable period of time so he could be able to breathe normally for a little while at least.   
He had always lived with belief that Sherlock was the cause for both his high cholesterol level and his thinning hair, the younger man was constantly giving him reason to worry about one thing or another, but during the time from Magnussen’s courting of Sherlock up to the fake kidnapping hoax he had been experiencing added levels of stress never before seen. And the quietness afterwards had been eating away at him even further. 

On the other hand, he couldn’t risk exposing Sherlock’s plan either, he had promised his brother to stay quiet despite his anxieties.   
So he had done just that and as far as his sources claimed, nothing out of the ordinary was going on at the Moriarty household. He was conducting his business like he always was, he was spotted in town on several occasions, sometimes with his right-hand man by his side, sometimes not.   
Nothing indicated that anything had changed in the man’s life. 

Magnussen had been a huge problem of course. He had another type of obsession with Sherlock than Moriarty had, more of the ownership variety, pawing him like a prized possession, alternating between wanting to show him off and jealously guarding him from anyone else coming near. Magnussen didn't get Sherlock like Moriarty did, however much Sherlock wanted to take Moriarty down he was still enjoying their little games a bit too much, but when it came to Magnussen Sherlock simply wanted the man eraticated full stop. Despite playing the loving fiancé he hadn't warmed to the man at all and Mycroft sincerely hoped it would all eventually end up well.  
It had been a true hassle for Mycroft when the kidnapping drama unfolded and it had taken a lot of Mycroft’s efforts and resources to keep Magnussen in check, he was beginning to see why his brother resented him so much. The relationship between them lately had become strained though and Magnussen had reportedly been fed information that Sherlock had eloped with the bodyguard instead of having been kidnaped by him.   
Mycroft had been informed that Magnussen had been to Moriarty’s house on one occasion after Sherlock’s disappearance, but he had no way of knowing if it was Moriarty who claimed Sherlock had run away with the bodyguard or if it was someone else. The press for instance, had been full of ideas, especially in the beginning, and similar theories had been floating around the ether claiming the same. It was only natural considering the age difference between Magnussen and Sherlock after all.

Mycroft had regrettably not found a way of getting someone inside the Moriarty’s house yet, it would have put his mind at peace to know how his brother was doing, but the criminal mastermind wasn’t exactly a man who would hire just anyone.   
Mycroft’s best bet had been that doctor fellow if he had been able to catch wind of him earlier. Unfortunately, the employment of Doctor Watson to the Moriarty household had happened in such a swift and unusual way that Mycroft’s sources hadn’t been able to act quickly enough.   
Mycroft knew all about him now of course, he had read his file and pondered over what someone like Dr Watson was doing with a man like Moriarty, but likely Sebastian Moran had somehow connected with the man and offered him a job when the doctor had been in a weak position, unemployed, depressed and lonely. Sometimes that was all it took for someone to be lured into a dangerous situation he wouldn’t be able to get out of. 

Mycroft still hadn’t figured out exactly what Moriarty used the man for, on the other hand, there had been a few doctor’s working for Moriarty before this one, he was probably helping him clean up messes like the one with the injured hit-man a few weeks earlier. It was easier to have a live-in doctor to solve those types of problems instead of bothering with visits to the Emergency and deal with the hassle such visits usually entailed. 

But that raised a very interesting question.  
Because, despite having his own private physician living in his house, Moriarty was now making a grand entrance at one of the city’s larger Emergency hospitals, getting caught on camera and probably knowing it but not caring and why exactly was that?   
The man himself didn’t seem to be injured or ill and neither did any of the men who were with him. So what was this all about?

“There is more, Sir,” his PA interrupted his thought process. “Approximately twenty minutes later an ambulance pulled up in front of the entrance. There had been two other emergency vehicles coming in during the time Moriarty was there but he only came out for the third one, to greet it. Here, watch.”

She pressed play on another snippet, this time showing Moriarty coming out from the hospital at full speed just as an ambulance was approaching the entrance.  
A mere second after having pulled to a stop and the driver still getting out of the vehicle Moriarty was already approaching it and almost position himself in the way when the ambulance worker was opening up the doors. He was showing clear signs of impatience.   
The stretcher with a patient on it was being pulled out but it was impossible to see any significant features of the person as both Moriarty and the ambulance worker seemed to shield the face with their bodies and the most part of the body was covered in a blanket, both arms and legs neatly tucked away inside it.   
Another ambulance worker jumped out behind the stretcher, and they quickly made their way towards the entrance, disappearing under the protruding roof covering the doors.   
The most interesting part was perhaps the third person getting out of the ambulance, just behind the second medical worker.   
It was unquestionably Dr John Watson.

The man had not been seen outside Moriarty’s residence since being employed. But his presence here was suddenly presenting a golden opportunity for Mycroft to instigate contact with the man and see if he could be persuaded or pushed, whatever worked easiest, to become an informer.   
If nothing else, the man could tell Mycroft if Sherlock’s cover had been blown or not. Mycroft had just the way to do that without actually giving away anything of importance.

“Do we know who the patient is?” he asked.

“No. Written in as a John Smith in the system. Unconscious, in a severe state, low saturation and pulse. But that’s about it. They have written nothing else about his status to give us any clues. An important client of Moriarty’s perhaps, a business partner, we don’t know yet, Sir.”

“Alright, the main focus is the doctor now. I want to initiate contact with him as soon as possible, without rising suspicion. We don’t know the situation or how long they will be in the hospital, but I need someone there right now trying to establish a connection with him. He is to be persuaded or pushed into becoming our mole, if that proves impossible, we take him with us.”

“The usual procedure, Sir?” 

“If it comes to that, I want to talk to him myself. Pick one of the sites and text me the details if that is the outcome. But priority is to establish a connection.”

“And the patient, Sir?”

She was tapping away his orders on her phone as she spoke so he knew she wasn’t wasting valuable time with unimportant questions. He had kept her this long on account of her efficiency, normally people never lasted for an extended period of time in his employment. 

“Most likely Moriarty is keeping his identity a secret but keep working on that as well. Priority is the doctor though, we can always find out about the patient later. If he is in such a state as you described, he will probably stay in hospital at least over the night, most probably longer than that. “

She disappeared to continue her work while Mycroft remained seated in his chair, already contemplating these new developments. 

Thoughts of Sherlock had a way of popping up now and then, normally disturbing his concentration on a daily basis, his brother had always tended to be a distraction even when he wasn't up to anything dangerous or questionable, so when these recent events offered a connection to Moriarty Mycroft's brain stubbornly wanted to wander away to pointlessly ponder how his brother was faring. It wouldn’t do him any good to waste time on thoughts like that now, particularly not when time was of huge importance. He remained seated in his chair, awaiting further information from his PA as the clock on the far end of the wall hit half past five and the first dusky shadows were seeking their way into the room through the window.

 

Almost one hour later, in a room not that far away from Whitehall where Mycroft Holmes was reciding, in fact just on the other side of Westminster Bridge, Sherlock Holmes was lying on a bed, at the moment all to himself, which was lucky considering that the effect of the Tetrodotoxin was slowly beginning to wear off. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past half hour now, catching snipets of what was happening around him without managing to bring to attention the fact that he was coming back to the life of the living and feeling utterly nauseous for it.

He remembered hearing several people speaking around him, one of them John, another one Moriarty and then others he didn’t recognize but assumed were medical staff considering what they were talking about. There was concern in their voices, especially in John’s but also in Moriarty's, although he was concealing it well by being highly strung and agitated, demanding results from the doctors, calling them incompetent, threatening law suits and other such nonsense that was doing nothing to help his case.   
It that regard he was a bit like Mycroft, throwing his weight around and expecting results even under uncontrollable circumstances. _Power-hungry control freaks..._

Sherlock had a hazy memory of John whispering something to him but he couldn’t remember what he had said. It was quite disturbing drifting in and out of consciousness, he had completely lost track of both time and surroundings, although he could draw the conclusion that he must be in a hospital now. 

So the plan had somewhat failed. 

At least a part of the plan.   
To be fair, it had been the weakest part of it anyway, but considering their limited options it had been worth a try, despite there being too many uncertain factors weighing in on the outcome - his own immobility, John's ability to talk the ambulance crew into helping them, Moriarty's actions and so forth. But at least they were out of the house now.

Getting out of hospital would be so much harder, he wasn’t even sure it could be done. Moriarty was already increasingly paranoid after the incident with Moran and after seeing Sherlock collapsing, he was bound to be even more on edge. 

Sherlock remembered the initial phase of this plan, when he had injected the substance and was still waiting for the effect to kick in. He had felt calm, like he was about to fall asleep, but without actually doing it and while his muscles started to feel lucid and his heart rate slowed down, his mind was still alert enough for him to register some of the details that was going on around him. 

He had made the effort to roll down on the floor from his bed, just to catch the attention of the people watching in the surveillance room. If he had remained on the bed they would have thought that he was just sleeping and the whole opportunity would have been wasted.   
As he fell and hit the floor he felt his body slowly becoming numb and as they rushed in to check his vital signs he was already falling under the influence of the Tetrodotoxin. 

Moriarty had rushed in just seconds after the others, a clear sign that he was keeping a close eye on his prisoner, and the man had been frantic. 

Sherlock’s eyes were not yet closed when Moriarty came in the room and he remembered those dark eyes bulging out of their sockets as he rushed towards him, throwing himself down on his knees just as Sherlock’s eyes rolled back into his head and then slowly disappeared behind his closing eyelids.   
He could still hear Moriarty calling his name, felling him shake his body in panic.   
It had almost been enjoyable to experience James Moriarty out of control in a way that didn’t immediately mean that someone was going to be blown into small pieces or shot in the face. It was the same thrill Sherlock felt whenever he managed to get his brother to lose control, letting that infernal mask slip for a second, revealing the person behind it. Sherlock was pretty sure he was the only one who could still do that to his brother.  
It happened so rarely that it was treat whenever he actually achieved it. 

They had that in common, Mycroft and Moriarty, they both apparently lost it when they thought Sherlock was in some sort of danger that they couldn’t fix with a mere snap of their fingers.   
He had a memory of Mycroft being close to tears that time when Sherlock had overdosed on a bad batch of Cocaine. There hadn’t been actual tears of course, not any that Sherlock could notice anyway, but it had been a close call, there had definitely been moist in Mycroft’s eyes. 

He tried moving his head as he managed to open his eyes enough to see that he was alone in the room.   
That was actually surprising, but he guessed that there was someone standing guard outside.   
As he tried raising his head from the pillow his head immediately began to spin and he felt like he would be sick any second, so he gave up his attempt at moving too much.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit excited about managing to at least have gotten out of the house and also relieved that he hadn’t miscalculated the dose completely. There was no scientific research done on this, a few reports on Tetrodotoxin being used as a zombie drug on Haiti but that was about it.   
He had injected a slightly weaker dose than what he had initially decided and hoped it would be sufficient, luckily it had proven to be effective.   
If he ever got away from the clutches of Moriarty he could use this knowledge when solving cases in the future, it was an advantage that he had tried it on himself, experience was always better then mere theoretical facts. 

If Mycroft ever found out about this he would surely have a fit.   
The thought made him want to giggle but it came out like a weak cough instead and yet again bile was threatening to come out of his mouth, he was clearly still under influence. 

Why was he thinking so much about his brother anyway?   
He rarely did and he hadn’t done it that much back at the house either, because this was _Sherlock’s case_ , his own dilemma, it had nothing to do with Mycroft. He wasn't prone to sentimetality, neither of them were, but still, his brother served his purposes sometimes and now, being in a hospital, brought back memories they had shared from the past.

As he had finally managed to get out of the house and had access to new players, perhaps he could get a message out to his brother so he at least would realise that Sherlock’s initial plan had failed and that he was now being held as prisoner by Moriarty.   
It would definitely sting a bit, turning to Mycroft for help, but he had John to consider as well.   
They had to get away from Moriarty, both of them.   
Besides, he was tired of this game now. He wanted to go home.

 

 

Outside Sherlock’s room I was pacing back and forth in front of the guard who was standing in front of the door. Moriarty had disappeared with the medical team twenty minutes ago and had not been seen since then and I was not allowed to be in the room with Sherlock. 

The doctors claimed that the patient needed his rest as they were yet undetermined of what was ailing him and Moriarty certainly didn’t want me anywhere near him, unconscious or not. 

“Watch him, he has a hankering for Holmes,” had been his parting words to the guard as he had left us to go with the doctors to confer.   
The tiredness and stress almost caused me to lash out at him, I was highly tempted to just punch him straight in the face, but Moriarty was out of my reach before I managed to do anything.   
In hindsight that had perhaps been for the best. Even if Moriarty didn’t know what Sherlock was suffering from, he was still the one in control and I was still only a prisoner despite new surroundings.

I was beginning to worry that someone was going to order a toxicology report and find the Tetrodotoxin in Sherlock’s blood but so far they had focused mainly on his breathing and his heart function. The doctors were probably too distracted by Moriarty and his posse at the moment to be able to think outside the box. All hell would break lose if the truth came out.

I sighed, scrubbing my hand over my face. I was utterly exhausted. 

After giving the door and the guard a final look, I announced that I was going to the bathroom down the hall. 

“Sure. But a heads up, no trying to get away, Max is watching the exit,” the guard said. I simply nodded, not bothering to reply that I wasn't likely to make a run for it as long as Sherlock was here. There was no way I was leaving him behind. 

As I went into the bathroom I could finally relax a little, leaning against the cool tile of the wall, trying to calm myself. A head ache was beginning to manifest itself and I wished that I at least had a chair were I could sit down and relax for a bit. The past days tension and excitement had drained me of all energy.

Suddenly one of the booths behind me opened up, revealing a middle-aged man stepping out of it, dressed in scrubs but with his attention completely turned on me. As he came up on my left we locked eyes with each other in the mirror in front of us and the stranger addressed me without hesitation.

“John Watson, we need to talk.”

I frowned. Was this one of Sherlock's doctors? Surely not, they were certainly drilled by Moriarty to only adress him. And besides, this man knew my name. Was he perhaps a former colleague?  
I racked my brain, trying to remember but came up blank. He didn’t seem familiar so I gave up.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” 

The man calmly answered.

“I have information that you are an employer of Mr James Moriarty. His physician more correctly.”

My frown deepened even more. What was going on?

“We are very interested in the activities of Mr Moriarty. And your presence in his household serves our purposes.”

“Are you the police?” I asked, a hint of hope in my voice despite suspecting that this was not a member of the law. Correctly the man shook his head.

“No. Just an interested party. At the moment we are lacking useful information coming from inside his house. For a substantial sum we could perhaps come to an arrangement, Doctor Watson? As his live-in doctor you have access to his inner circle and whatever information you can gather would be of huge benefit for us.”

“I don’t even know who you are!”

I could help but raise my voice, feeling uneasy about the situation.   
No way was I going to complicate matters further by getting involved with someone who wanted me to spy on Moriarty. All I cared about was getting away with Sherlock. Moriarty and his shady criminal activities were of no consequence to me.   
Who was this anyway? If not the police, then who? A rival? 

“It’s of no consequence who we are, I’m not obligated to tell you anyway. What I am interested in is whether you could be persuaded to assist us in this little mission? A simple transaction of information for money, we can work out the details of communication so you won’t have to fear getting caught, we are not amateurs, I can tell you that much. ”

“Have you done this kind of thing before?”

“Many times. Not regarding this particular man, but others. We are very professional, you have nothing to worry about, Doctor Watson."

“Then you might not know this, but James Moriarty is not like any other man you have sent people to spy on. For one thing, he would know immediately what I was up to and then he would kill me and not in a straight forward, quick way either, but with a slow, painful, torturous death. Beacause unlike you, I _have_ worked with this man and I know exactly what he is capable of doing.”

“We can assure you…”

“No! Enough! I’ve had a hell of a day, I don’t really care who you are and what you want with Moriarty, but I am not interested and if you don’t just bugger off and leave me alone right now I will step right up to one of his guards sitting outside and tell him what you tried to get me to do. Let’s see how you like that? Perhaps you will get the joy of personally experiencing Moriarty yourself after that!” 

I gave him an angry look, hoping for him to back off. I wasn’t gladly going to get out and put Moriarty’s men on this person, despite him bothering me, so hopefully he would take the hint and scamper off. 

But just like everything else this terrible day, nothing worked in my favour and instead of backing off the man stepped closer, opened up his white doctor’s coat, revealing a weapon in a holster underneath it.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Was this nightmare ever going to end?

“I’ll respect your wishes, Doctor Watson. But that unfortunately means that I have to take you with me instead.”

I quickly opened my eyes again. 

“ _What?_ ”

“I said, you’re coming with me.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. This man was obviously completely clueless.

“And how do you suppose to do that? Even if you point a gun at me that doesn’t solve anything. There is a guard sitting just down the hall and another one by the exit door. Even if they don’t know you they certainly know me and their main purpose is to make sure that I don’t get anywhere from this hospital.”

“Not a problem,” the man said calmly. He took out the gun from the holster, pointing it at me.

“Get in the cubicle. In the garbage disposal, beneath the discarded paper towels, there is a pair of scrubs as well as shoe covers, a surgical mask and a head cap. Put those on.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll use the gun of course. That’s generally what weapons are for, Doctor Watson.”

I contemplated my options. I had no desire to leave, in fact I feared it. Moriarty’s rage when finding out that I was gone would send hellfire over everyone in this hospital and besides, I was hellbent on not leaving Sherlock behind. We were in this together now. And not even having made sure that he was going to wake up again, I couldn’t just leave. 

But if I was shot dead in here, the end result would be same – Sherlock alone, left in the clutches of his captor. That wasn’t an ending I was prepared to face either.   
However I did I was being forced to leave Sherlock behind and I wasn’t willing to do that.

“No. I can’t go with you. I’ll accept the first offer instead, I’ll spy on Moriarty for you. Just don’t take me away from here.”

But to my rising despair the other man simply shook his head. 

“No. That offer is not available anymore. My orders are to take you with me if you turned down the initial offer. So that is what I am going to do.”

“But you don’t understand, I can’t leave! I can’t!”

“And yet you will. You have ten seconds to get in there, close the door and get dressed. Then we’re leaving. Or I’ll shoot you.”

I contemplated daring him to do it, perhaps there was a chance that he wasn’t actually going to go through with it? But could I really take that chance considering everything? 

No. If I was dead Sherlock would be utterly alone in this. If I went with this man I at least had a small chance of perhaps getting free eventually, and then I could try hunting down Moriarty on my own. It wasn't a good plan by a long shot but it was the best option I had right now.

Reluctantly I did as I was told and less than a minute later we were out the door, heading in the direction of the exit. I didn’t dare look at the guard situated outside Sherlock’s room and I was half-expecting him to call out after my retreating back, but he never did.

We passed the other guard as well, Max, on our way to the elevators but he wasn’t paying us any attention, to him we were simply two medical colleagues passing by.  
We passed an additional five guards that I could spot through our walk out of the hospital, perhaps there were even more that I didn’t manage to see, but none of them stopped us and when we came out in the open a black car immediately glided up to the kerb next to us.

“Get in,” my abductor said and with heavy heart I did.

_Farewell Sherlock. I promise that I’ll be back for you soon._

In the car I pulled off the surgical mask and glared angrily at the man by my side, opening my mouth to vent my anger at the situation.   
Despair was clawing at my heart and all I wanted to do was rush straight back inside, back to Sherlock.   
What if I never saw him again? That thought was to much to even contemplate and anger surged through me. But just as I was about to unleash my wrath, stop my abductor from getting any further with this, I felt a sting in my left arm and confused I looked down, spotting a syringe dangling there, like a forgotten funny toy, out of place and at the same time sending a cold shudder down my spine when seeing it. 

"No....!" I yelled, grabbing after it, but there was no use.

It took less than a few seconds for whatever I had been injected with to take hold and limply I felt my body becoming lucid, movements slowing down. I tried screaming, reaching for the door handle in a last effort to get someone’s attention but it was too late, and I fell into darkness.


	25. Meeting Mr Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is gone, Moriarty is angry, Sherlock is surprisingly hurt by this development and Mycroft gets some terrifying news about his brother.

There was yelling outside the door followed by a violent crash.  
Sherlock who had drifted back into unconsciousness again but regained his perception mere minutes ago couldn’t help but jolt fully awake at the sound of it.  
There was still no one in the room but there was clearly a commotion on the other side of the door, he could distinguish Moriarty’s agitated pitch as well as a lower voice, stuttering something Sherlock couldn’t make out. 

It would be tempting to get out of bed and try to eavesdrop but he was pretty sure his body wasn’t up for it, just as he wasn’t ready to face the consequences that would immediately start piling up in front of him when people knew he was awake and ready to start answering questions.  
He hadn’t fully figured out exactly what story he was going to settle with, it all depended on what facts they already had. If someone had ordered a toxicology report it would be a completely different situation than if they were still clueless about his status. 

And John, what had he managed to convey regarding the situation? Had he been able to fool people into believing that Sherlock’s collapse was a mystery? Perhaps related to his earlier abuse?  
He felt anxious to find out more but right now he was trapped in this bed, Moriarty probably on the prowl out there in the corridors and John was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t really surprising, Moriarty would hardly let them spend time together in a room unsupervised, but still, Sherlock missed the doctor’s presence and wished that they could have gotten some time to assess the situation before everyone else got involved. 

Right now though, there was another type of situation going on outside his room and he wondered if he should be prepared for whatever that was as well.  
Moriarty had a temper and being here was hardly going to improve that fact, but this sounded worse than his usual irritation with people around him being idiots and the world at large being to his dissatisfaction. 

Suddenly the door burst open, slamming into the wall with full force, Moriarty rushing in, wild in the eyes, practically frothing at the mouth.  
Sherlock had no chance of closing his own eyes on time to pretend that he was still in his vegetative state but he managed to rearrange his features so they looked weak, newly awakened and in a confused state. Like a person just out of unconsciousness and certainly in no state to answer any questions, at least that was what he was aiming for.

“At least something is working around here, sleeping beauty is _finally_ awake! Get the bloody doctor in here! _Now_!”

Behind his back there was a man bleeding from his nose or mouth, it was difficult to say from a distance and that part of his face frankly looked a mess altogether.  
It was one of the guards from the house, Sherlock recognised him and it also fit well with his suspicions that Moriarty had brought the whole cavalry to the hospital to supervise him.  
But something had apparently displeased the criminal mastermind if you went by his agitated demeanour and the guard’s bleeding face. 

Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, apart from the obvious hassle of being here on public display in a hospital of course.  
He knew Moriarty prefered operating under the radar, this was far too out in the open for his taste, but clearly Sherlock’s health scare had made him leave the woodworks just this once, the man must have been in sheer panic for that to have happened, on the other hand, Sherlock had counted on him being able to drive Moriarty to that state, this game between them had driven his enemy to a point where he wasn’t willing to let go of Sherlock until they reached the very end.

Moriarty came over to the bed and hovered over Sherlock’s face, drinking it in, inspecting it.  
The anger he radiated was partly subsiding because his focus was on Sherlock now, but it was still there, just beneath the surface.  
So something substantial must have happened, something not easy to let go off.

And suddenly it hit him like the easiest thing in the world.  
He blamed the after effect of the drug on why it took him this long to figure it out. Because the one thing that should also have been either in the room by now or just outside it, next to the bleeding guard and the two other henchmen Moriarty had brought with him, it was glaringly not there and if that was indeed the case there was no question about why Moriarty was having a temper tantrum of supressed proportions, likely on account of them being in a public place and not in the security of the house where he would surely have given the guard more than just a bleeding face.

It was John. He wasn’t there.

To his own surprise he felt his gut clench uncomfortably when realising this.  
Because somehow, despite his own manipulating ways, snarky attitude and their rocky start, he had still thought of them as being together in this now.  
The kiss in the gazebo, it had certainly been heartfelt, hadn’t it? The warmth in John’s eyes whenever he looked at Sherlock, it couldn’t have been an act, surely?  
The man was a terrible liar and actor, that was for certain. 

Or had that been the actual act? Pretend to be bad at lying just to get back at him for the stunt he had pulled in the garage earlier, with the pulled down pants and the stealing of the car?  
If so, Sherlock had never been so fooled by anyone in his whole life.

That thought made his gut clench even harder and he wished that he could just banish those feelings of surprise and deceit altogether, because they were no good to him, they wouldn’t help his own situation one bit.  
He always knew you never could trust anyone and this was a glaring example of just that, he was on his own in this, like he always had been, like he set out to be from the beginning.  
John Watson was simply a diversion he let himself be lured away with for some unfathomable reason and that just showed how he had failed himself when it came to this situation, it had always been about him and Moriarty – that was the original setting, everything else was of no consequence.  
John Watson, Magnussen, Moran, Mycroft – they were all just pieces in this game between two enemies, nothing more.

Well then, as he now knew the situation regarding John at least, he could play this out as he had always intended, no further concern for anyone but himself and his own safety. And he should actually feel relief over this, John had also been a prisoner of sorts and he had now been able to escape, that should be a positive thing, nothing for Sherlock to feel betrayed over.  
A person who managed to get out of the clutches of Moriarty was quite impressive and it also unburdened Sherlock of the task of helping him as well as himself. It was a _good_ thing. But somehow it didn’t feel like it.

When Moriarty confirmed his suspicions a mere second later, searching Sherlock’s eyes for any clues, he had no problem keeping his face stone cold and indifferent, revealing nothing about any connection between him and John’s disappearance.  
Because there was no connection. John must have seen his opportunity and taken it, nothing more, nothing less.

“Did he do something to you so you ended up in this state, so he could make a run for it when we came to the hospital?” Moriarty asked, still searching Sherlock’s eyes for any sort of clue, a sign of trickery. 

“You overestimate our relationship. If he had an agenda he certainly didn’t share it with me. I woke up a minute ago, remember.”

“Yes. And what exactly was it that you woke up from?”

Sherlock tried going for a shrug but the movement was too quick for his still groggy body and it reacted by sending a wave of nausea through him, making him draw a quick unpleasant breath, closing his eyes for a second.At least it worked in his favour, he was really suffering, and it showed. 

Moriarty turned his head and yelled out through the open door, asking where the bloody doctor was.  
And just like that, as by a snap with his fingers, they were there, in the room, crowding around the bed, managing to push Moriarty back a bit so they could examine the patient.  
Sherlock allowed them do it, he didn’t even have to pretend that he felt weak, tired and ill. He actually did.

When the dreaded toxicology report finally was brought up on account of a member of the medical team in the end apparently started to think logically, Sherlock decided to play ignorant. He could pin the results on John anyway as the man wasn’t there anymore to get blamed and suffer the consequences. 

The more Sherlock thought about it, the better he felt about John managing to escape. It was stupid of him to think of them as being together in this mess, to each their own, it had always worked well for him in the past and would continue to do so in the future as well.  
If he had a future after this situation.

While they procured Sherlock’s blood for testing and took his vitals, Moriarty was pacing the room.  
He was agitated again but keeping a lid on it, probably fearing that they would kick him out of the room, or even worse, out from the hospital.  
The idea that something as mundane as being banned was giving Moriarty grief felt a bit funny, Sherlock would probably have cracked a smile if there had been someone he could have shared this thought with.  
As it was now, he was lying alone in a bed, surrounded by an anonymous medical team doing their job, probably sensing that something was a bit off with the black-haired man behind them but doing their best to ignore him for now. Luckily there wasn’t one of those self-assured doctors with a know it all-attitude who could endanger them all by being snotty to the criminal.  
More snotty than Sherlock usually was to him.

The bleeding guard had disappeared from the corridor, at least he wasn’t visible through the door.  
If he was truly smart he would have made a run for it as well, he was probably somehow responsible for John’s disappearance if the bleeding face was any indication. He wouldn’t make it far of course, Moriarty would be able to track down his man soon enough, the question was, would he go after John as well? 

When the team disappeared, Moriarty approached the bed again.

“If he is in any way responsible for this happening to you I will hunt him down and skin him alive.”

“And if he isn’t, you will let him run?” Sherlock couldn’t help but be perplexed.

“He is a nobody in the end. He can’t do anything to me even if he wishes to. He probably wanted to have his way with you, the way his mouth was always watering when he was near you…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sherlock protested testily but Moriarty kept going.

“…but he won’t get that either. If I stumble upon him again, he will get his of course, no question about it. But I’m planning on leaving as soon as they sign you out from this wretched place. And he will never set eyes on either of us ever again.”

With that he stroked a curl from Sherlock’s forehead, in a mockery of tenderness, lips grinning but menace glowing in his eyes. 

“You just rest here, Sherlock, I have a staff issue to deal with. Hopefully the test results will be done when I get back so we can get some clarity into this situation. Looking forward to it already.”

And with that he was out the door, leaving Sherlock to his own devices, a guard positioning himself outside just as the door slammed shut between them. 

 

*

 

I came to my senses by being splashed with a cold bucket of water. Spluttering and shaking my head while regaining my breath I opened my eyes and looked straight into to the icy stare of Mycroft Holmes sitting in a chair in front of me.

He looked impeccable, just like the last time I had seen him, same dignity and at the same time making sure that nothing was going to manifest too closely in memory, looking classy but at the same time nondescript.  
Considering that he apparently was in the business of kidnapping people in broad daylight and then sedate them in cars, it was probably good that he did his best to look like someone you couldn’t pick out in a police line-up.  
Not that I would ever forget him of course, he was Sherlock’s brother after all. 

I was sitting in what looked like a cellar space, a room without windows, light simply coming from a lamp on a table behind him, leaving the rest of the room shrouded in shadows. I wasn’t tied up or anything, simply seated in a steel chair, but there was a mirror wall to our right and I wasn’t stupid enough to not understand that it was probably a two-way mirror, people standing on the other side observing us, ready to jump in to help their employer if I proved to be a difficult abductee. 

“Dr Watson, so nice to finally have the opportunity to make your acquaintance without the intrusion of your employer’s presence to disturb us.”

I couldn’t help but glare at him despite feeling a slight relief.  
Maybe Mycroft could actually help me get Sherlock out of hospital if we acted quickly? 

“While I don’t condone your methods, I am actually glad to meet you as well, Mr…Holmes, I presume?”

He arched an eye-brow but otherwise didn’t convey any surprise with me knowing who he was.

“Quite. I do remember seeing you skulking about the day after my brother was abducted. We never spoke but I’m sure someone filled you in on who I was. Perhaps you met my brother as well, on the night before his disappearance. During the dinner party. He was attending it with his fiancé.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously until remembering that he didn’t know what had happened to his brother. He was still under the illusion that Sherlock was investigating Moriarty, hiding away in the attic or whatever Sherlock’s original plan had been.  
I suddenly felt that there were a lot of gaps for me to fill in, things his brother knew nothing about, and yet time was of huge essence, I didn’t know what Moriarty would do once discovering that I was gone, and Sherlock actually woke up.  
If he ever did wake up.  
If he for some terrible reason didn’t, it would be even more difficult breaking those news to his brother. 

So instead of going off on a long story telling tangent I decided to play it cool and see why Mycroft had abducted me in the first place. Quite honestly, when looking at him I suddenly had the feeling that he might not be completely trustworthy.  
So I decided to answer him as succinctly as I could, not giving everything I knew away just yet.

“Yes, we met, Sherlock and I,” I replied warily.

“You managed to make quite the impression on Mr Magnussen it seems. He was very adamant that you were put under questioning the next day. Any idea why that was?”

“I suspect it was because he is a jealous and possessive bastard who doesn’t like the fact that his so-called fiancé spoke to someone else. It’s just a hunch but I think I can go with my gut feeling on that one.”

This time both eyebrows were raised.

“That’s quite a statement considering the very limited amount of time you spent in their presence. But having met Mr Magnussen on several occasions I might concur with you on that assumption, he is a man very fond of what he considers to be his.”

He went quiet again, observing me with that dissecting look that his younger brother used as well, probably trying to intimidate me to start talking on my own accord, but I didn’t move a muscle, just continued to wait for him to state his business.  
Finally, he spoke.

“Why I really brought you here has more to do with you employer, Mr Moriarty, than anything else. Forgive my digression. As I understand it, you have been working as his live-in doctor for several weeks now. How are you liking it so far?”

I immediately became defensive. What was this man interest in Moriarty anyway?

“What has it to do with you?”

“You are, I am sure, aware of what line of business Mr Moriarty is operating in, Doctor Watson? Being an accomplice is almost as bad as actually doing it yourself. But with your education and intelligence, that sort of reasoning is hardly a novelty to you, am I right?”

God, this man was infuriatingly slippery about getting to the actual point about this meeting. I was beginning to suspect that I probably would have been better off staying at the hospital with Sherlock and Moriarty.  
Not that I had been given an opportunity to choose for myself.

“It’s is all very fascinating, this Bond lair of a room and your double-meaning conversation. But if you think that I will sit here and waste my time talking around the bush for the next hour or so, you are sadly mistaken. I take offence at the way I was brought here, I had no intention of either following your man’s instructions of spying for you on Mr Moriarty or coming here against my will to be interrogated about who knows what. So I am going to save us both the trouble of putting it out there: I know nothing of his business, I have nothing for you to work with, nothing to rapport and even if I did I wouldn’t risk my life spying on him for you, however much money you threw my way. Because I actually care about my life and doing your bidding would put an end to it. I tried telling your goon that Moriarty isn’t someone you spy on and get away with it, that house is mouse trap, full of cameras, both hidden and out on display, guards everywhere and the man himself is as mad as a hatter, suspicion alone would be enough to end a person’s life. Would I be willing to risk that? No. Do I have more important things on my plate? Yes!”

“Such as?”

“Well, trying to save your brother for starters!”

I was furious now and couldn’t help raising my voice for the last part and evidently it had an impact because his indifferent features paled slightly and I could see something twitch beneath his eyes for less than a second.  
The room went quiet for a few seconds while he just continued to assess me.  
I could see him breathing more heavily on account of his chest moving slightly more than it had been before I had mentioned his brother but other than that it seemed like he did his outmost to control himself.

“What do you mean by that, Doctor Watson?” he finally said, his voice conveying no emotion.

“That the reason for me not wanting to leave the bloody hospital is because your brother Sherlock is currently lying there, unconscious as far as I know, and no one is standing between him and Moriarty getting his hands on him and taking him to a place where none of us will ever find him, if given the opportunity!”

This time his eyes actually widened even if the rest of his face remained impassive, it was like he was suddenly understanding something of huge importance.

“So the patient…? It was Sherlock...?” he said quietly.

I didn’t know how or what he knew but evidently he knew something, considering the impact my words had on him.

“But how?” he finally said, when his thoughts had apparently stopped spinning.

I looked at him, truly looked at him and I could finally see some concern in his eyes, just a hint of it but none the less there and I actually pitied him, this was probably the only way he knew how to convey feelings. Seeing that I decided to tell him what I knew. The edited version of course, I neither had the time or the inclination to tell him about the garage incident, the kiss in the gazebo, Moran’s untimely death and our hand in that outcome, I simply told him the bigger picture and even so I could see that he was shaken to the core when I finally finished.

“So you see, getting me out of there was a huge mistake. Me disappearing will have angered Moriarty even more than he already was agitated over the situation to begin with and now there is no one to look out for Sherlock when Moriarty will try to discharge him and then take up and leave. If they do a toxicology report Sherlock will be in serious trouble as well and he is at the mercy of a deranged man. We need to figure out a way of getting him out and quickly, or none of us will ever see your brother again.”

Mycroft nodded.

“If he is keeping my brother guarded as you say and they are in a hospital it is too dangerous to just swoop in on the place and collect him, the risk of a hostage situation involving my brother or any other patient is to imminent, Moriarty wouldn’t hesitate to cause real violence and mayhem if feeling threatened. We need to find another way and quickly, before, as you say, he removes Sherlock from there and takes him somewhere where we will never be able to find him. The man has resources and availabilities all over the world, he could play hide and seek with us for a long time if he wanted to and the risk of him growing bored with his captive is also a factor, he might simply kill Sherlock one day and dump him somewhere and none of us would be the wiser.”

His words made my heart go cold. The thought of Sherlock’s lifeless body being thrown into a ditch or dumped out at sea perhaps, never to be retrieved, never to be put to rest, like a piece of garbage one disposed of, it was terrifying and not something I could accept as an outcome. Desperation was clawing at me at the mere thought.

Mycroft rose from his chair, still looking at me, contemplating something.

“Why is it that you care so much about my brother, Doctor Watson? You are after all free now. Moriarty might be angry about your escape but he will hardly put in the effort to get you back as he still has the person he’s truly interested in. You could essentially walk away and be done with this episode of your life, gruesome as it has been, it is over for you if you want it to be.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying! I would never abandon Sherlock, the idea was outrageous, unthinkable and it angered me that he even raised the question.

“You clearly don’t know me, Mr Holmes.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t. But I do find it odd that a person who essentially is a stranger, whatever experiences you have shared with my brother, would risk getting both caught again or even killed while trying to rescue him. Unless there is something else to the picture? My brother has a way of turning the heads of seemingly rational men at the best of times. Look at Magnussen or Moriarty for that matter, they are mere caricatures of what they used to be before meeting him.”

“I wouldn’t call any of them rational,” I remarked dryly.

“Nonetheless. Is that the case with you, Doctor Watson?”

I thought of the kisses and the time we had spent together, him tricking me and me punching him in the face, that final kiss on his lips in the ambulance, the last time I had touched him. It seemed like a lot but in reality it was nothing more than mere scraps of intimacies, not enough to be anything really. Had he twisted me out of sense and reason as well?

No.

Whatever came of this, if he walked away from me the second this was over and we never made contact again, I at least acknowledged that I felt something for him and it was enough for me to not abandon him where he was.  
Love, lust, the beginning of a friendship, whatever this connection was, it was strong enough for me and I was ready to face whatever lay ahead of me to help him get away.


	26. Interruptions of the unpleasant variety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft try to come up with a plan but end up being interrupted.  
> Sherlock has a both surprising and unpleasant experience.

After our meeting Mycroft went into action. Or at least as much action as a man who essentially ruled everything from behind his desk was able to.  
The first thing he arranged was for a possible toxicology report to be tampered with. The Tetrodotoxin was to be deleted if such a test was conducted.

“How can you even do that? Patient records are classified, you shouldn’t be allowed access into the health care system that easily, it’s for medical staff only,” I objected when I heard Mycroft make the order on his phone to someone who evidently had access to the system.  
Who that person was, was a little unclear but apparently she didn’t work at S:t Thomas.

When I had finished talking Mycroft explained it while he opened up his computer.

“Classified only works as long as the people who run the systems are prepared to keep it that way. Hospital records as well as police records are unfortunately very easily accessible if you put your mind to it. Ask my brother, he has made a habit of breaching security protocol.”

I could see him regretting his words as soon as they were out of his mouth. We both wished we could have asked Sherlock about it, asked him anything for that matter.  
Unfortunately, he wasn’t with us.

I paced the room while Mycroft sat staring at his computer screen. He wasn't informing me about what he was doing at the moment and it was agitating, resulting in me trying to bombard him with questions.¨

“Does your access to the system mean that you have people working inside the hospital? Someone we can reach out to, who could help us get access to Sherlock? Can you see if he has woken up from his unconcious state yet?”

“Unfortunately no to your first question. Regarding the second one, I'm working on it.”

“You got me out!”

“That was easier. You were allowed to roam the corridors, allowed into the bathroom unsupervised. My brother is unlikely to be granted the same freedom. Even less so now that they managed to lose you. They will be even more on their guard.”

“I told you it was stupid to remove me from the hospital!”

If Mycroft cared about his outburst, he didn't show it.

“Yes, but we didn’t have the full picture when I ordered my man to collect you. I didn’t even know Sherlock was there. There is no use ruminating over what is already done, what we need to do is act according to these new circumstances.”

I knew Mycroft was right, but it still worried me that Sherlock was alone at the hospital, at the mercy of Moriarty.  
I wasn’t entirely sure Mycroft really could tamper with the toxicology report either, if one was to be issued. Maybe the tests had already been conducted and presented while we had been sitting here? It was perhaps too late. Or perhaps Sherlock never had woken up again?

I felt the strong urge to just burst out of this place, wherever this was, and head straight back to S:t Thomas. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe they hadn’t found out that I had disappeared? Or perhaps I could claim that I had been abducted? They couldn’t blame me for what other people did, could they? I just desperately needed ro see Sherlock with my own eyes, see if the man was still alive.

I buried my head in my hands as I kept pacing, shaking it as I was trying to calm myself down. This wouldn’t do.  
I was known to keep my cool even under stress, I had always managed to do what needed to be done, even with war raging around me, sometimes operating on people while soldiers where shooting outside the medical tent.  
This was no different, no one would benefit from me losing it right now. Not me and certainly not Sherlock. 

It was just that I didn’t see how we were going to do this. 

If I couldn’t return and Mycroft didn’t have any people working on the inside, how where we supposed to get access to Sherlock or at least some information about his situation? It seemed doomed from the start and it worried me that I felt like this. Like everything was already lost. As long as Sherlock was still breating, it couldn't be too late after all.

Suddenly I stopped to a halt.

There was acctually someone who sort of knew about the situation and who worked at the hospital, even if said person had chosen to not help us out at the beginning. It couldn’t hurt to reach out again though. 

“I might have an idea,” I said and Mycroft looked up from his computer, frowning, probably on account of me coming up with something before he was able to.

“It’s perhaps a bit farfetched and I’m not sure if he is going to go along with it, but I think it might be worth a try. If we can assure him of our protection.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. 

“Is it a civilian? Because if it is, you know we can’t make that sort of promise. You said so yourself, Moriarty is a dangerous man and if being cornered, who knows what he will do?”

“But it can’t hurt to reach out and ask him at least!" I argued.

“Who is he?”

“He is the man who came with us in the ambulance. Initially the idea was that he was going to drop us off by the side of the road, before reaching the hospital, but I failed to convince him to do so. If I had done a better job we might have been safe by now.”

“Or dead. How were you supposed to flee if Sherlock was unconscious?”

Mycroft was clearly not convinced.

“Yes, this man pointed out that flaw as well. Guess we didn’t plan it properly before putting everything into action.”

“Clearly not. A familiar weakness of my brother’s, I'm afraid. He has a tendency to throw himself out into danger, without consideration or preparation. He is a brilliant man, but he has an unfortunate habit of miscalculating sometimes.”

I reluctantly nodded, it made sense.

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that. But at least he isn’t afraid to throw himself out there and however stupid or reckless it can seem, I sort of admire that about him.”

Mycroft contemplated me silently before slightly shaking his head, lowering his gaze back to the screen, clearly thinking me irrational for feeling this way.

“I can see that you do, Doctor Watson. You seem to suffer from the same recklessness as my brother. Drawn to the adrenaline rush of danger, the both of you. Let’s hope he makes it out of this situation as unscathed as you did.”

There was resignation to his voice, like he had been worrying about his brother since the dawn of time. Being the older brother of someone like Sherlock Holmes, it was probably true.

A few minutes later some good new came through. 

“The system tells me that he has woken up. Not too long ago."

I felt a huge relief surge through me when hearing that, suddenly sagging like a balloon being emptied of air, not realising until now how tense I had been up until now. I took a deep breath to calm myself enough to hear what else Mycroft had to say, still looking at his computer scrren while addressing me.

"I can also see that he hasn't been discharged yet. That is a good thing. When he is, it will be almost impossible to get him back. Even if I don’t like what you have in mind, bringing a civilian into this, for now it might be the best chance we have. If you tell me his name, I’ll have him brought here.”

I nodded and opened my mouth to respond when an intercom buzzed, interrupting me.¨

Mycroft pressed a button with barely supressed irritation.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb, Sir. But Mr Charles Magnussen is demanding to see you. He is very insistent.”

Mycroft sighed. 

“Ask him to wait and I’ll come up and meet him. We can take the meeting in my office.”

“I’m afraid he insists on seeing you immediately, Sir. He won’t take no for an answer.”

Mycroft looked at me and then over at the mirror wall.

“Fine. Show him down here. But stall for a minute so I can prepare.”

As soon as the connection was broken a door opened up and the man who had brought me here appeared in the doorway, gesturing for me to come with him. I felt anger immediately surge through me at the sight of the man, I hadn’t forgotten the way I had been brought here after all.  
But there was no time for that now, I could claim my revenge later, when everything was dealt with. 

Hastily I went with the other man out of the room, leaving Mycroft behind, seated behind his desk.  
I was ushered in through another door and found myself on the other side of the mirror wall. 

I could see Mycroft rearranging himself, removing the bucket that had been used to splash water in my face earlier so I would wake up.  
Then there was a determined knock on the door and my attention turned towards it, hearing Mycroft calmly asking the visitor to enter. 

Less than a second later Charles Magnussen made his entrance.

 

\-----------------

Sherlock was not allowed any privacy for long after Moriarty had left him.  
A nurse came by with a tray of undistinguishable food and some painkillers, another one wondered if he needed assistance with going to the bathroom or if he would prefer to be emptied with the help of a catheter upon which Sherlock did his utmost to acerbically reply in a way that would prevent any such questions to be asked in the future.  
He wasn’t an invalid, in reality he didn’t even belong in a hospital in the first place and soon enough they would come to the same conclusion and discharge him, allowing for Moriarty to take him wherever he chose, most likely saying good bye to England, his brother, his life as he knew it forever.  
Saying good bye to John Watson.

He stubbornly shook his head.  
No!  
Not down that route again, it was stupid sentimentality. It was just because he had expected them to make a run for it together, it had no true baring on his actual situation and the more time he wasted dwelling on things of no consequence, the closer he came to his doom.  
He should focus on getting out of here instead.

As he saw it, there were several factors making that difficult.  
The guard outside his room for starters, was likely not the only one taking care of surveillance, Moriarty would never be so careless.  
So a number of guards must be stationed on different locations in the hospital, probably centred around this floor and perhaps the entrance floor as well,it was to be expected. And as this hospital was not Moriarty’s own property and he had no authority to be placing official guards wherever he chose, they must be working in disguise, making them harder to spot. Not that Sherlock wouldn’t be able to, he was after all used to Mycroft’s infernal agents tracking him. Spotting them and then do his best to shake them off was after all something he excelled at. 

But still, it was an obstacle, especially as he didn’t know how many they were.

Another difficulty was the actual room and its limited options for hiding, lack of items easily turned into weapons or availability to escape.  
It was situated on the seventh floor to start with, too high to make any attempts leaving by the window. Not that he was scared of hights, but there simply wasn’t anything to hold on to , just a window and then nothing, no ledges, ladders or anything. 

The room was bare except for the bed, a door to an en suite bathroom and a small closet where he was sure his clothes were hanging although he hadn’t bothered to look inside it. It was too narrow and low in height for it to be of any use to him, he wouldn’t even be able to fit in there if he for some reason would need to do that. 

The room was utterly useless. 

On the other hand, John had been able to make a run for it and succeeded doing that. He of course had the benefit of not being limited by one room, but still, it was impressive and Sherlock wished that he could’ve asked someone more questions about the escape. About the circumstances. Maybe John had actually managed to see a chink in the armour of Moriarty’s surveillance, something that Sherlock could use? 

But how was he supposed to get that kind of information? Moriarty himself would hardly supply it and the guard outside was someone other than the one who had originally been there. That man was most likely off somewhere enjoying the questionable company of his deranged boss. If he hadn’t made a run for it as well.

Moriarty would be back soon and with him there would be the results from the toxicology report. He needed to work fast if he was going to use the small window of opportunity he had before things went back to being beyond his control.

A bit shakily he jumped out of bed, made sure his hospital gown didn’t reveal any involuntary nakedness and then headed for the door. 

As expected he was met by the solid form of a guard once he opened it, initially with his back towards Sherlock but turning around when sensing the door opening up behind him.

“Mr Holmes. How can I help you?” the man asked politely if a bit gruffly. 

He was easy do deduce, he made no efforts trying to hide who he was after all and even if he had wished to do so, he was too stupid too succeed. Sherlock's deductive skills Immediately kicked into action.

_A twelfth grade dropout, small-time crook with big aspirations and initially happy to be part of a bigger picture but now regretting that decision, mostly on account of Moriarty’s unpredictable nature and psychopathic tendencies. Closeted homosexual, compensating for that by indulging in rough unprotected sex with hookers but at the same time contemplating using his boss's inclinations for men to his advantage by offering up his favours, but hesitating on account of Sherlock being the boss’s top priority at the moment. A big dreamer but too stupid to fulfil them, prefered short-cuts and would likely end up dead or injured on account of it._

It was like breathing, he did it without even thinking about it, the information just kept pouring in, ending at the same time as the other man finished his sentence. 

“I was looking for someone to help me get to the bathroom," Sherlock explained.

The bulky guard eyed him suspiciously and that actually was to his credit as Sherlock had after all managed to make it to the door without incident and he should therefore technically be able to make the journey over to the bathroom as well.  
But to prove his point about actually needing assistance Sherlock swayed slightly, as if he had tired himself out and the guard felt the need to catch his arm to prevent him from slidining down to the floor.

“Why didn’t just call for a nurse? There is a button for that by the bed,” the guard grumpily informed him but still making the effort to get a firmer grip around Sherlock’s waist, to steady him.

“I didn’t want a nurse. They’re idiots.” 

He tried sounding as much as himself as he could muster, not wanting to open up for more suspicion from the other man but on the other hand wanting to strike up a conversation so he could glean some useful information about his situation and about what had happened with John.

As they slowly made their way across the room to the bathroom, he did his outmost to slow down the process, sensing the annoyance from the other man but not caring about it. 

“Do you mind telling me where the man who looked after me back at the house has disappeared to? I thought he was hired to look after my needs but now I am left to deal with a group of incompetents who has no insight into the history of my specific health situation.”

He knew he sounded like Mycroft when speaking like he was intitled, but he also knew that class was something deeply ingrained in people of inferior backgrounds, they hated toffs but at the same time felt the need to show off their own value, in any way they could. Knowledge was usually a way going about that and information was hopefully something this man was in possession of. As predicted the guard didn't hesitate to fill him in on events.

“The doctor’s no longer with us, Mr Holmes. You’ll have to make do with them people working here.”

Sherlock made the effort to sound shocked as he replied.

“No longer with us? Do you mean the man is _dead_?”

The guard couldn’t help a sarcastic snort.

“Not yet he aint. Will be though if the boss catches him anywhere near you again. Always figured him a bit of a perv anyway.”

To stall for time Sherlock stopped just within a few steps from the bathroom door.

“Stop talking in riddles, I might play games with your master but I don’t indulge with the help. What are you trying to tell me, where is he?”

The guard was clearly incensed with the insult but probably had his orders not to cause Sherlock any harm. It was good to rile him up though, if affected by anger, the more likely he was to be loose-lipped.

“He made a run for it. I wasn’t in charge, mind, or he wouldn’t have gotten that far. So, you won’t be seeing him again. Unless in a bloody coffin if the boss catches him.”

Sherlock feigned surprise.

“How did he manage that? Who made a mistake?”

“Gary that’s who. Said something about him going to the bathroom and never came back, when he went looking for him he was gone. How he got past the rest of the guys I couldn’t tell you. Maybe he had some inside help, being a doctor an all. Boss thinks he probably worked at this hospital before going into the army, he perhaps met someone who got him out. A friend or something.”

The thought of John with a friend didn't sit that well with Sherlock. Another friend, apart from him? 

Were they actually friends though, him and John? 

They had kissed after all, and as far as he knew, friends didn't kiss each other. But it wasn't like he had much experience of friendships, never having had one, not even growing up. 

But it wasn't like they had been lovers or anything either. Kissing did not a love relationship make. There needed to be more. Sex, intimacies, _feelings_. 

Yet again he mentally waived off the thought of John. Enough with the destractions! Keep focus!

They had made their way inside that bathroom now and the guard awkwardly turned his back as Sherlock sat down on the toilet, too unsteady to manage standing up. He wasn’t in any urgent need to actually go, the drug had seemingly made it difficult for him to urinate freely, but he could always come up with an explanation if he didn’t manage to squeeze a few drops. 

While he sat there, the guard addressed him while facing the door.

“Don’t you be getting any ideas now, Mr Holmes, on account of you hearing about the doctor. He should’ve been guarded better but he was never the main target here. So if you think…”

Sherlock sighed, interrupting the man.

“I don’t. Besides I don’t have the stamina at the moment for any plans. “

“Boss thinks he poisoned you to get out of the house and escape. But he also thinks the doctor might try coming for you.”

That idea sat surprisngly well with Sherlock, despite there being no evidence to support that theory.

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that…” he mumbled.

“You better not. Mr Moriarty aint going to let you go, you get that, right? So no funny business.”

“If you and your boss think that I know what Dr Watson is planning, you are both sorely mistaken. He was my doctor, nothing else.”

“Yeah, maybe to you he was. But Seb, he told us differently, he said the doctor had it bad for you and that we should keep an eye on the two of you together. I reckon the boss knew too, he refused him access in here when you were out cold.”

Sherlock snorted sarcastically to accentuate his oppinion on what this idiot, his boss and his work mates thought of him and John.

“I don’t care what the _late_ Sebastian Moran had to say on the subject. All I did was ask where the doctor was, as I hadn’t seen him since waking up. If I had known that I would be subjected to slander and accusations I wouldn’t have bothered. I don’t really care where he is, I merely asked out of curiosity. Won’t be doing _that_ again.”

And with a huff he got up and made it towards the bathroom door, not bothering with playing the crippling anymore.

“Hey, wait! I’ll help you.” the guard yelled out but Sherlock kept going.

“Don’t bother. I feel better now.”

And he sort of did. 

He didn’t really understand how John had managed to escape but on the other hand, neither did Moriarty and his gang. And if they could be fooled by John, they could be fooled by him as well. He just needed to figure out how to go about it.

He went over to his bed and crawled back in, pulling the blanket over his body while burrowing his head in the pillow, already mentally dismissing the bulky guard who still stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what he was supposed to do.  
When he, despite Sherlock's obvious disregard, remained where he was, Sherlock sighed histrionically .

“Please leave. Your presence is putting me off and I need to think.”

The man looked like he wanted to clock him but he couldn’t of course, Moriarty would skin him alive if he did anything to Sherlock. So he simply stomped off instead, muttering angrily to himself, closing the door with more force than necessary.  
Sherlock didn’t really care, all he needed was time to himself so he could think. 

When he eventually was interrupted it was by the medical team coming in, toxicology report in hand and Moriarty behind them.

“Well, well, this truly is a mystery, Sherly! Toxicology report is clean, not even any traces of Cocaine, so evidently you really managed to stay off the sweets this time. That’s good to know actually, even if I didn’t mind too much. Not that I wanted a coke head, but the occasional top off, I wouldn’t have cared. Too bad you are such a slut for it, there is no modesty when it comes to your relationship with the white lady. So a top off for you is out the question.”

The doctor and his team looked uncomfortable while Moriarty spoke, clearly not approving of the talk about drugs, even less so regarding the indication of drug use. Doctors were always so determined about their opinions on the subject Sherlock thought, remembering the talking down to he had received from John while detoxing. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard from both his brother and several other doctors in the past, but somehow he had listen at least partly to John.  
It didn’t mean Sherlock had changed his mind about drugs, he still craved them just as Moriarty had so readily pointed out, but perhaps it was lucky that he wasn’t under influence for the time being.  
Cocaine had its purposes, but making him see things clearly enough to figure out how he was supposed to escape wasn’t one of them.

Apparently the Tetrodotoxin had made his synapses slow or something, because it took him almost a full second to grasp what Moriarty was saying about the toxicology report. The same Tetrodotoxin that was apparently not showing in the test results. 

How was that possible? 

He knew some drugs didn’t stay long in the system but this was ridiculous, it was still the same twentyfour hours, for God’s sake!  
As a college graduate chemist he knew it was simply not possible for a drug to leave no traces behind after such a short period of time, despite his limited knowledge of _this_ specific drug. 

Not being able to resist his own curiosity he asked to take a look at the report still in the hands of the doctor.

Moriarty sat down next to him on the bed, pretending to look at the report as well although he clearly had already looked at it earlier.  
The medical team hesitantly hoovered by the door, unsure of what to do until Moriarty absently waved them off, telling them to leave. When they had left he moved even closer to Sherlock on the bed

“I suspected Dr Watson of having poisoned you, but guess I was wrong. For a second that made him slightly more interesting as a person, but on the other hand I would have roasted him over a fire, impaled on a spit, if he had harmed you in any way. Turns out he is as boring as I always suspected. I can’t make up my mind about this report though. Because if there was no substance causing your respiration and heart rate to behave the way they did, what was it then? This useless lot of so called medical experts are clueless of course, no surprise there. But the question still remains, what was the cause for your emergency and how can we prevent it from happening again?”

Sherlock tried to shake off one of Moriarty’s hands that had begun a lingering journey up his arm, the arm holding the report.  
It reminded him of a spider making its way forward and he did his best to supress a shudder, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of reacting to his touch. 

Meanwhile Moriarty continued his musing, seemingly oblivious to Sherlock's mental reactions.

“It really is _so_ strange, the things that has happened to you these last few days. First the assault and molestation by Moran and then this, a full collapse of the body but no evident reasons for it. If I hadn’t seen it myself I would almost have questioned the plausibility of it, you know.”

The hand reached Sherlock’s shoulder now, continuing up his bare throat, sticking up from the hospital garment.

“That assault by the way, is also such a mystery. I mean, I saw the impact myself, no wonder you looked the way you did, being exposed to such violence, not to mention the violation to your more intimate parts. But do you know what else the medical staff here couldn’t find when examining you? Not only a zero result on a toxicology report, but also no indication whatsoever to you having been molested. Granted, there has been a few days, but the way Doctor Watson and you described it, some evidence should still have been visible, despite a healing period. So not only do you not have any of the injuries Doctor Watson claimed you were suffering from, there is also absolutely no evidence of any violation done upon you except from a few punches to your abdomen, far from as severe as they were made out to be, and then the punches the doctor himself inflicted on your face.”

Sherlock felt his blood turning cold as Moriarty’s fingers closed around his throat.  
He hadn’t even thought about the fact that someone would blow the cover story regarding the assault, his focus being solely on the toxicology report. After the removal of Moran it had never occured to him that the issue could come up for questioning again.

Refusing to meet Moriarty’s look he continued to stare at the paper in his hand.  
He had nothing to say. 

It seemed Moriarty wasn’t finished though. 

Fingers pressing a little more firmly around Sherlock’s throat, the tone in his voice was still even and calm, despite his words.

“Sebastian Moran is no longer breathing on account of that accusation, as you know. He tried screaming that you two were lying, setting him up, but instead of listening to him I had his tongue cut out. There was so much blood after that, he almost choked on it. And still he tried telling me things. That’s quite impressive when you think about it. Because, with your mouth full of blood and no tongue present, there isn’t much you can do to make yourself heard. If I am fully honest, I didn’t give him much of a chance either. But who could blame me, considering what I thought he had done?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. 

He had always counted on being able to survive a little while longer on account of Moriarty’s obsession with him. But there was clearly a limit after all. Being the cause for the death of Moriarty's right hand man was perhaps it. 

This was even worse than if Moriarty had found out about the Tetrodotoxin. That issue could have been explained away, blaming it on John if necessary, as he had managed to escape anyway and couldn't suffer for it.  
But the story about the abuse had led to severe consequences. There was no way to bring Sebastian Moran back to life and even if Moriarty himself had ordered the death sentence, Sherlock and by extension John, had been the cause for it. 

He waited for the hand around his throat to tighten the grip, cutting off the air supply. 

He wasn’t even sure he would fight it. 

Moriarty was most likely armed anyway and if Sherlock was going to be killed by the man eventually, why prolong the procedure anymore?  
This was as good a way to die as any. 

The pressure did indeed tighten and he could sense the difficulty of filling his lungs with suffiecient oxygen. 

The last thing crossing his mind was that he felt happy that John had managed to escape.  
He deserved it.  
Sherlock would miss him, he could admit that to himself as he felt his life slowly being squeezed out of him. The memory of that kiss in the gazebo popped up and he allowed it to linger inside his mind, refusing to open his eyes and actually look at Moriarty. 

The man was not going to get the satisfaction of seeing death take over his body, at least not through his eyes.


	27. Playing for high stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnussen has had some new information regarding Sherlock and makes a bold move against Mycroft.

Charles Magnussen looked much the same as when I had last seen him, but this time anger was contorting his features, the icy superiority was gone, as was the menacing calmness he usually exuded. 

“Charles,” Mycroft said from behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, polite but in a clipped tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The only reason I would ever set my foot in this damp torture chamber of yours is on account of your brother. As I am sure you already have figured out.”

“He isn’t here,” Mycroft said calmly. “I thought you worked under the impression that he was off galivanting with that bodyguard of yours? Or some other such tripe.”

The two men stared at each other and even from behind the glass I could feel the hostility between them. It was nothing like it had been when I had last seen them together, back at Moriarty’s house, the day after Sherlock’s disappearance.

“I know he isn’t. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t earlier. Your brother is proving to be quite a different creature than I first figured him to be.”

“The fault must surely be on account of your lack of observational skills. I find that he most often is exactly like I expect him to be. Maybe the miscalculation is due to the fact that you think of him as a creature.”

“Stop talking nonsense! He was playing a game with me from the very start, I have realised that now and despite what that bodyguard is claiming, there is something fishy with his disappearance. Today I have finally found some evidence confirming my suspicions!”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but otherwise not showing any signs of interest. 

I couldn’t help but lean closer against the mirror, as if proximity was somehow going to make me understand better what it was Magnussen was trying to say. As it was now, he was simply a very angry, somewhat overemotional man standing in a cellar, yelling at the brother of his former fiancé, but not really making any sense. He was so far off from the man I had formerly met weeks earlier, eyes now bulging behind the glasses, the thinning hair in slight disarray, gesturing with his hands in a manner that stood in stark contrast to the very well-collected man I had met back then.

_“My brother has a way of turning the heads of seemingly rational men at times. Look at Magnussen…”_

The words kept repeating themselves in my head as I looked at him through the mirror. He was clearly a man on the brink of a collapse.

I felt a shudder run down my spine, as well as a stab of recognition when seeing his irrational demeanour.   
Because weren’t we all in the end irrational when it came to Sherlock Holmes?   
However much I could try to reason myself into thinking that I would do everything I had done for him, for anyone else as well, it simply wasn’t true. None of it. The risks, the sneaking around, the secret kiss, the going along with his crazy schemes, it was all on account of him.   
Had it been someone else I would have walked away ages ago, not letting myself get roped into this madness. 

I suspected Magnussen felt the same way right now, perhaps even wishing that he had never met Sherlock in the first place. 

Sherlock had a way of getting under your skin and once trapped it was impossible to entangle yourself for some reason.   
Arch-enemies, hairbrained schemes, drugs, faked engagements, kidnappings, plotting, mysteries and death, how was that even someone’s everyday life? 

Who knew how Moriarty felt about it, he was after all in a completely different category than the rest of us. Maybe he simply thrived from the drama?   
He was already so far gone in his own delusional existence that one more mad hatter in the mix was most likely pure entertainment.   
On the other hand, he had been out of his depth a few times as well, during these intense weeks with Sherlock and he had clearly not liked it, lashing out all over the place, paranoia growing with an increasing rate, so maybe it was becoming at bit too much for him as well. E  
veryone had their limits after all, and right now it seemed, Charles Magnussen had finally reached his.

Mycroft had been right when he claimed Sherlock did indeed turn the heads of the most rational men, intentionally or not, it all ended up the same in the end.

Magnussen did an effort to draw in a deep breath before continuing to speak, but it came out more like something between a growl and shudder, furthermore driving home the point of his current state of mind. To his effort he at least managed to look menacing now, giving Mycroft a run for his money in that department.

“I had a very interesting visitor this evening. An ambulance worker. He sought me out in my office, insisting that he had some very important news regarding my missing fiancé. He had been hearing about it a lot on the news. And do you know what he told me?”

Magnussen made a pause for effect, pinning the man behind the desk with his gleaming eyes. Mycroft to his credit remained indifferent. He wasn’t interested in games and theatrics the way Sherlock thrived from them.

“He told me that he had driven a man to S:t Thomas hospital an hour earlier, fitting the description of your brother down to every detail, from hair, to facial features and body build. The patient was unconscious and therefore unable to say anything for himself and normally a story like this would have made me wave it away as a pack of lies and the man telling them being dismissed as a fortune seeker, but then he mentioned another detail that changed my whole perspective. You see, he said that there was another man in the ambulance as well, accompanying the patient. And can you guess what he said the name of that man was? …”

Tilting his head in a slightly reptilian way it was clear that he was checking Mycroft for signs of any knowledge about this, suspicion accelerating on all cylinders now. Mycroft didn’t bat an eyelid though. 

Almost a full 30 seconds went by until Magnussen released the penetrating gaze and answered his own question.

“The man presented himself as Doctor Watson and the unconscious one went by the name of Sherlock Holmes.”

The silence in the room was not what should have been expected after delivering those news and Magnussen immediately caught on to that fact, frowning a bit. Mycroft wasn’t an actor, so he wasn’t willing to put on a show, feigning ignorance about these details. On the other hand, he was clearly not interested in confirming anything either. 

I wondered how I would have played it out myself. I had no interest in involving Charles Magnussen in any of this, the man made my skin crawl and just the thought of his damp hands all over Sherlock caused my stomach to turn. But on the other hand, he was on to something now and it was difficult to see if he could actually be of any help or if he would endanger the situation even more by interfering.   
If he was told the truth it was likely that he would spring into action, looking after his own interests before considering the dangerous circumstances. The stage was after all a hospital full of innocent people and one very dangerous, unhinged man with an obsession and no intensions of backing off.   
It was frankly the most awful settings imaginable, especially considering that Sherlock was trapped right in the middle of it all.

When Mycroft didn’t say anything Magnussen lost his patience.

“Don’t you find that very peculiar? Because nowhere in any news coverage has there been any mention of a Doctor Watson in reference to the kidnapping of Sherlock. We only know of him because we met him in Moriarty’s house, but this ambulance worker had no way of knowing who he was. That particular detail is what confirmed his words as being true, to me.”

“And what else? What exactly was it this ambulance worker of yours was trying to say?”

“That he had some leads to the kidnapping case regarding my fiancé. That he had driven him and this Doctor Watson to S:t Thomas hospital in his ambulance. Nothing else. Well, there was the question of monetary compensation and he will have it if his information can be verified of course. So far I haven't been able to recieve a confirmative response from the hospital regarding either Sherlock or the doctor's presence there, but you know as well as I do, there are other ways to acquire more data. I want you to either confirm or deny that Sherlock is in that hospital right now. If you don’t know the answer already, find out.”

“What makes you think I have anything to do with this? That I know anything at all?”

“Because you are _Mycroft Holmes_ , the man who has built a whole career out of knowing absolutely everything and Sherlock is your precious little brother. There isn’t a fallen eyelash from his beautiful eyes that you don’t know everything about. He is your pressure point, we both know it. In the beginning I was even counting on taking advantage of that fact when getting engaged to him. Unfortunately, _you_ are not _his_ pressure point, so I had to give that idea up, it would only have worked if he cared about you the way you do about him. Ironic to consider that the cold-hearted Ice Man has a bigger weakness to exploit than his impulsive, danger-seeking, drug addict of a little brother. Rather puts a perspective on things, doesn’t it?”

“And if I don’t wish to help you with this?” Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking tired.

“I am surprised that you wouldn’t consider this news helpful in our quest to find your brother. But on the other hand, it confirms a suspicion I have been nurturing for a while now. Namely, that whatever this situation is, you are not as clueless about it as you have been portraying yourself to be. I always did find it strange that you and your people never found anything regarding Sherlock’s disappearance. It made me wonder about a few other strange details regarding these events and a lunch visit to James Moriarty not that long ago confirmed that something completely different than the original set up, was in the works. He hasn’t been honest about his part in this either, and that was to be expected in a way. I am told, by sources, but also confirmed by my own observational skills of the man, that he is apparently obsessed with Sherlock, and that they are engaged in some sort of battle of wills between them. I knew some, even if not the full extent of it, the night we went to his place for dinner, I have learned even more afterwards. Him inviting me over for lunch after Sherlock’s disappearance and throwing that bone about the bodyguard my way, confirmed it. He was trying to throw me off scent by playing up to my jealousy. It was a blatant attempt, even if the bodyguard did indeed get a private audience with me a few days later. The final piece of the puzzle was the ambulance worker telling me the address where he had picked up Sherlock and the doctor to take them to S:t Thomas. As you can guess, it was all I needed. That emergency call came from Moriarty's house. ”

He stepped forward now, all the way up to the edge of the desk, taking advantage of his height, it being even more substantial than Mycroft’s, to pose a threatening figure.

“So if you don’t help me with this, Mycroft, I will print a story about you being behind the kidnapping, together with Moriarty. It will ruin your reputation and your whole career.”

“I’ll sue of course.” Mycroft replied calmly, releasing the grip on his nose again. Magnussen simly nodded, grinning now.

“Of course. That is to be expected. But it will only add even more fuel to this bonfire of a story, people love a good narrative after all. Even if you were to take it to court, people rarely bother to read more than a headline, a few phrases here and there perhaps, and that will be enough to form their opinions about you, and your reputation will be in their judgemental hands. Not even _I_ know the full extent of the story, all I do know is that your hands are not as clean as you claim them to be, neither are Moriarty’s or the doctor’s, and does it truly matter? In the end, that is information enough for me. I am already moving on to the next level now.”

“And Sherlock? What of him?”

“Well, we are engaged. If he doesn’t want this to get out, maybe we can come to an arrangement. I always did look forward to breaking that arrogant personality of his, wrapped in the delicious package of a body he flaunts wherever he goes. I just never expected it to be done this way.”

“He hardly cares about reputation.”

“No, but he might have to, in this case. Being involved in his own kidnapping, it can’t be good for future clients to get wind of. Not to mention Scotland Yard. They are not likely to want further collaboration with a person who incriminates himself in dubious activities such as staging kidnappings. It is, I believe, a criminal offence. He might even get jail time. I am sure none of us would like for things to go that far though. Imagine someone like him trapped inside a cell, the only company available would be other prisoners, prisoners he probably helped put there in the first place.”

“You have no proof, except for the ramblings of some unknown ambulance worker and your own delusional thoughts,” Mycroft objected, not rising to any baits dropped by Magnussen.

“I don’t need solid proof when gossip and rumours can do the rest. All I care about now is getting Sherlock back. Whatever ploy you have been cultivating between the three of you or two of you or whatever the constellation is, it ends today.” 

The two men stared at each other in silence while me and two of Mycroft’s employees, agents or whatever they were, observed them through the surveillance glass. It felt like neither of them were going to back down, both probably used to getting their way. That’s why it came as such a surprise when Mycroft finally answered, at the same time breaking eye contact, leaning forward in his chair.

“Fine.”

I couldn’t help but feel shock, even outrage at Mycroft’s words. What was he playing at? Was he really going to bow down to a creepy bastard like Magnussen? If that was the case he wasn’t the man I thought he was. 

In anger I clenched my fists, tempted to storm in there and tell them both to bugger off with their stupid power play and control issues, I could solve the situation with Sherlock's resque on my own. Still seething I could hear Mycroft speak, no longer indifferent and calm. His voice was pure ice.

“I will make the arrangements to find out if, and if that is the case, where and under which aliases Sherlock and Doctor Watson are registered at S:t Thomas. It will take a few minutes, a few minutes I do not wish for you to stay in my presence. I’ll suggest that you return to where you came from, await my call and then do what you seem to think is your prerogative. I will not hold against you this hairbrained idea you are cultivating about me, James Moriarty and my brother having formed an alliance. I will excuse your lapse of judgement on account of your obvious state of mind at the moment, you have been under significant pressure these past weeks, which is excusable to an extent but still doesn’t fully free you from the responsibility of throwing both insults, threats and accusations against me and my brother. I do not further wish to associate with you in the future and upon hearing this, it is doubtful my brother will wish to do so either. My main concern is to retrieve him safe and out of harm, whatever situation he is in. If he is indeed, as you say, in S:t Thomas, you have my permission to retrieve him and I will see him when circumstances allow it and you have outplayed your part as rescuer. If he isn’t, then this is the final time we have anything to say to each other. Whatever the outcome, this is good bye for us, Mr Magnussen.”

Magnussen looked taken aback for a second, then he collected himself, tilting his head in a slight nod.

“Agreed. We have rather shown our true hands now, there is no use to keep this false pretence of comradery up officially any more. When I have the full picture, I will decide my next move accordingly. If you are lucky, I might even let you off the hook regarding public outing of these events, depending on the part you played in them. Sherlock on the other hand.....he’s coming with me. Good bye, Mycroft. I’ll inform you of the outcome later. And please, be hasty with your arrangements, I do so look forward to solving this once and for all.”

With that he turned around and left the room. 

A soon as he was gone Mycroft turned towards the mirror and nodded once, resulting in the man who had brought me in there telling me to come back with him to the room where Mycroft was sitting.

The first thing I did when the door opened was to erupt.

“What the hell are you playing at Mycroft?! We can’t let him interfere in this! He has nothing on you, don’t you see that? He has figured it out all backwards, he can’t blackmail anyone whatever he might think and he will see that when the truth comes out.” 

“I know that. Calm down, Doctor Watson. I’ve had enough yelling from one man today, I do not need a repeat performance from you as well.”

“But if you know what I’m saying, why are you letting him get to S:t Thomas? Even if he is interested in getting Sherlock back there are huge risks involved, people might get injured, even die, if things go wrong. And him stomping in there might be just the catalyst that causes Moriarty to explode.”

“I am taking advantage of the element of surprise. The last person Moriarty is expecting to show up at the hospital is Magnussen, especially as he doesn’t know what Magnussen knows. They are business partners after all, Moriarty has never crossed paths with Magnussen before and probably sees no reason to do so now, unless absolutely forced to do it. There might even be a chance that he tries talking Magnussen around to his point of view or that he delivers some lie about the reason for him and Sherlock being there. It doesn’t really matter, what’s important for us is the opportunity presented when Moriarty is occupied with Magnussen. We have the chance to take advantage of the momentary lack of attention and strike.”

“You know that plan might very well end up with Magnussen getting in harm’s way?”

“Well, he did come after both me and my brother. Nobody told him to interfere.”

“You didn’t tell him to stay away either. He has no idea what he’s stepping into.”

“I hope you are not beginning to show sympathies for the man at this late hour, oDctor Watson? He did after all proclaim his intensions to keep my brother as his forced fiancé under threat of blackmail, no less than five minutes ago. That constitutes as choosing sides in my book and he went for the opposite team. Whatever he steps into after that, it’s his own doing. All we can do is take advantage of the diversion he is unknowingly creating. My priority is to get my brother out of there alive, preferably without causing any casualties and hopefully with Moriarty in cuffs by the end of it, the last part being of least importance and most likely being too difficult to accomplish, but we shall do what we can. Do you agree?”

I looked at him, the steely glint in his eyes, the determination to do this his way and with no sympathies for the man who had just left the building believing he had the upper hand in a situation he was going to walk away from as a loser in the end, hopefully alive at least, but a loser none the less. 

This was the Ice Man indeed. 

But he was right. This was it. This was the opening we needed, the chance to get Sherlock away from Moriarty, so we could arrange an ambush when our enemy’s attention was turned on Magnussen. The blackmailer was going to be our bait without himself knowing it and hopefully it would be enough to make Moriarty lose focus sufficiently so we could succeed with our plan to retrieve Sherlock. 

I nodded and Mycroft reached for the phone on his desk.

“I’ll make arrangements for a team to infiltrate the facility, they will be disguised as civilians and work their way to Sherlock’s room from the opposite direction of where Magnussen is coming. I’ll inform him in fifteen minutes that Sherlock is indeed in S:t Thomas and knowing him and his eagerness to get my brother back, he will head over there straight away. Time is of essence now, primarily considering Moriarty’s wish to move Sherlock as soon as the medical staff are willing to discharge him. While we have been talking, who know what arrangements have taken place over there. “

I put my hand out, grabbing his wrist before he was able to make the call.

“I want to be there as well. When we get Sherlock…”

“No,” Mycroft interrupted before I had the chance to finish my sentence. “I might not lose any sleep over the fate of Charles Magnussen, but despite my ruthless reputation, I am not willingly putting people’s lives at risk, not my brother’s and not yours either. You are not trained for this, I can’t allow you to partake.”

But I simply shook my head at his words, I wasn’t willing to take no for an answer. 

Me and Sherlock had been in this together from the beginning, it was our joint escape plan that had led us here, ending with him being in hospital, and despite the fact that I was now free and out of Moriarty’s clutches, I wasn’t prepared to leave his rescuing to others, to not follow this trough to the end.   
If anyone was getting Sherlock out of there, it was going to be me.

“I hear what you are saying, but I am not backing down on this. We made a pact, Sherlock and I, to escape from Moriarty together, there is no way I’m letting you or anyone else step in and do what is my responsibility. If you don’t let me go with your team I will go on my own and the risk of me ending up dead will be even likelier. But at least I died trying. See if you can sleep at night after knowing you could have simply let me accompany your men instead.”

Mycroft gave me one of his piercing stares, he was clearly not used to being disobeyed. I was mentally prepared to argue with him even more strongly, because I wasn’t going to change my mind whatever threats, persuasions or other forms of manipulations might come from his mouth.   
But to my surprise something in his features suddenly softened and I could see defeat in his eyes. It was difficult to say if he or I was more surprised by that outcome but I was glad that he wasn’t forcing me to waste more precious time arguing my standing point. 

“Fine,” he muttered. “I can see now why you decided to team up with Sherlock in the first place. Either he has had the most terrible influence over you these past weeks or you truly are of the same ilk, the both of you. He never listens to me either and I get the feeling that you suffer from that same weakness.”

I couldn’t help but smile at those words. He was right, perhaps we were a bit like each other in some respects, Sherlock and I. At least we were just as stubborn and we complemented each other rather well, after all.   
If we ever made it out of this situation, alive and well, we might actually get the opportunity to explore what other interest we might have in common.

As if sensing what I was thinking, Mycroft Holmes narrowed his eyes, lips thinning in a disapproving line, as if highlighting the suitability of time and place for certain thoughts. 

But he didn’t say anything, he simply released himself from the grip I still had of his wrist and then he made the call, kicking our plan into action.


	28. Time to leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock who doesn't know John and Mycroft are coming for him, take matters into his own hands and makes an attempt at escaping.

Sherlock woke up gasping for air, bolting up to a sitting position in the bed, fingers feeling at his throat for the reason to his shortness of breath.   
Then he remembered.   
The last thing he had experienced before blacking out was Moriarty trying to cut off his air supply with his forceful hand, staring him down with anger smouldering in his eyes, holding his prisoner in a choke hold. Sherlock understood that he must have passed out after that.

As he looked around the room it was empty.   
Moriarty had evidently left him passed out on the bed, just like that. He probably knew that Sherlock was still alive, but he hadn't bothered to stick around and make sure that Sherlock was okey.

Well then, seemed like the honeymoon-phase was coming to an end. 

Just as well, Sherlock was tired of this game of theirs now.   
He wanted Moriarty incarcerated or even dead if possible and that wasn’t something he usually felt when trying to catch criminals.   
He mainly only bothered with solving the crimes and catching the culprits. Everything regarding evidence, court proceedings and so forth, never really were of any interest to him. 

That was why it had been entertaining to chase after Moriarty in the first place, because it had been all about the game and the solutions and beating each other.   
But now the whole thing had gone stale and left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

Well, time to put an end to it. 

Get out of here or die trying. 

There was no way he was going to accompany Moriarty anywhere else, neither by force or willingly.   
After being cooped up in the house during all those weeks, he missed his freedom, his home, his violin, the experiments he had put on hold on account of this expedition. An expedition he could with bitterness confess had turned into something of a fiasco.   
He should have just given the idea of sneaking inside Moriarty’s lair some more thought before executing it, or perhaps settled for what he had on Magnussen, finished that case first and then attacked the Moriarty problem in another way.

This had been both pointless and a waste of time. He had achieved virtually nothing over these past weeks when it came to finding something to pin on Moriarty so he could finally be arrested. And the worst part was that it was all down to Sherlock's own impatience and stubborness, Mycroft had warned him after all, the plan had its weakness issues, but had he listened? No.

If he ever got out of here, perhaps he could point someone in the direction of Sebastian Moran’s missing body at least, but most likely there would be no traces left from than crime scene either. He had virtually made no progress at all.

So conclusion: the only thing worth the effort from this operation had been meeting John Watson, as strange as that sounded even in his own head. 

Because Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a people’s person after all. The weeks he had been forced to spend with Magnussen had been awful, largely because when being with other people along came all the hassle of physicality, touching, talking, interacting and Sherlock hated it. Not as much as Mycroft did, Sherlock could enjoy the company of other people on occasion but mainly it wasn’t his cup of tea. That Magnussen had creeped him out made the issue even worse, he could still remember that moist touch from the other man's hands on his body with a shudder. 

With John Watson it had felt different though and he couldn’t pinpoint why that was, it had simply been something else and at times even enjoyable in a way he seldom felt with others.   
It was confusing and he didn’t want to waste precious time thinking about why that was, but if he ever managed to spring free from his captivity he would surely give the matter some serious thinking through. 

He was tired of staying in the hospital bed any longer, waiting like a sitting duck for events to unfold, he was after all a man used to being in charge of situations himself and for him, the waiting part was over now.   
He felt more or less fully recovered from the Tetrodotoxin injection, the injuries he had received earlier were not bothering him to any larger extent, being mere bruises by now and the abstinence from his drug abuse had subsided.   
He was more or less fit as a fiddle and ready for action.

The first issue on the agenda was to remove the gorilla standing guard on the other side of the door. 

It wouldn’t solve all his problems but it was a start and if he at least managed to get outside this pointless room he could figure something out along the way. 

So what he did first was to call for a nurse.   
A younger woman immediately came rushing, probably having been ordered by Moriarty to be at his beck and call if needed.   
Her clear uncertainty and lack of experience made it slightly easier for Sherlock to talk her around to what he wanted her to do, she reminded him of a little mouse who nervously twitched her nose before she spoke and he did his outmost to cement some sort of bond between them by playing vulnerable.   
Complaining about severe pain and difficulty sleeping, he asked for something to help him with that. 

“I have difficulties swallowing tablets, so I would prefer an injection if possible, " he said softly.

The nurse looked nervous and began talking about her not being allowed to administer anything without talking it through with the doctor first.   
Sherlock sighed inwardly, why were people always so difficult?   
But outwardly he plastered on a mild mournful smile, giving her an imploring look with huge doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes in a fashion he knew made him resemble a small boy as well as a pretty one simultaniously, trying to affect both her hopefully existing maternal instinct, as well as the side of her that would fall for a vulnerable man-child in need.   
He could sense that the more overtly sexual persona he sometimes cultivated in manipulative situations would just scare her off.   
Deductions told him that she was wary of the opposite sex, considered most of them as being predators but still secretly harboured fantasies of the romantic variety. More old school romanticism than the blunt sexuality of modern times.   
So vulnerable innocent pretty boy would be the right way to go.  
Giving her puppy eyes while talking in his deep, most velvety voice, he said:

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You’re not doing anything wrong. Please, it really hurts and I can’t relax. I just want to get some sleep, this whole experience has caused me tremendous worrying and I feel really scared because the doctors don’t seem to b able to figure out what is wrong with me. What if I die, if I stop breathing again? I feel absolutely terrified and I am at the end of my tether frankly. I just need a few hours of peace so I can cope with this situation better. The doctor won’t be back until morning, he told me so, and it is night time after all, all I want is to get a few hours of rest. Just please, help me?”

It was the biggest practise of the word "please" he had ever used in his whole life, but evidently it worked, because with a small worrying of her lip before sighing in defeat she told him that she would be right back with something to help him get through the night.

When she came back she had the medicine trolley with her and it was easy enough to distract her so he could pickpocket a syringe and a vial of Propofol without her noticing, putting it up his left sleeve while she administered the IV with Stesolid to his right arm.   
As soon as she had left, he ripped it out again, pulled out the syringe and filled it up with the Propofol from the stolen vial. Then he carefully put the syringe back up his sleeve and hobbled over to the door to ask the guard standing outside if he could get any help with going to the bathroom.   
Thankfully it was the same guard he had used for the same purpose earlier so he didn’t need to explain why he needed to be helped to the bathroom, the guard simply took a steadying grip around his waist and right arm, helping him across the room. 

Inside the bathroom Sherlock asked him to lock the door.

The guard gave him a questioning look.

"Why do you need the door to be locked?"

“Because that nurse with the red hair and the glasses keeps coming in to check on me, she has been in my room two times already these past twenty minutes. I wouldn’t put it past her if she would come barging in here as well. The boundaries of some people...” Sherlock muttered, sounding annoyed.

"Maybe she fancies ya?"

"Well, I don't fancy her. All I want is some rest and a little privacy."

“Fine,” the guard snorted and turned his back to Sherlock so he could lock the door.   
Next thing he knew he felt a stabbing pain in his ox-like neck and couldn’t help but shout out in pain, reaching for the area with one of his hands while swivelling around, only to be punched hard in the face by Sherlock, followed by a swift kick to his genitals. T  
he pain was so excruciating that no sound came as he fell down on his knees, both hands now instinctively covering his privates, the stabbing pain in the neck momentarily forgotten. 

Sherlock knew that the drug would begin to have effect within 30-40 seconds, so he would only need to keep the guard unable to call for enforcements or lash out at him for a limited amount of time. 30 to 40 seconds unfortunately felt like a long time when being under the threat of a wounded and incleasingly angered giant of a man. Sherlock continued to cause a distraction by delivering a kick to the face this time, secure in the knowledge that the guard wouldn’t willingly expose his genitals again by trying to grab his foot.   
He could feel the familiar crunching sound as the guard’s nose broke from the blow, the feeling a bit unpleasant considering the fact that Sherlock didn’t have any shoes on.   
The guard moaned and bent forward, still on his knees, reluctantly moving his hands from the genitals to the now bleeding face. From his neck the syringe was still sticking out, plunged deep into the flesh and by now the man was finally showing signs of being affected by the drug.   
Like a huge ox he tumbled forward, landing ungraciously on his face, mere seconds away from being completely unconscious.   
Swiftly Sherlock turned him sideways so the airways could stay clear, if possible he didn’t want the man to die after all. There was always a risk with administering sedatives, especially something as potent as Propofol, but on the other hand, he no longer could afford concern about his enemies welfare, whatever happened would have to happen, he needed to get out of here and quick. 

Taking the phone, wallet and the small hand gun from the man’s coat pocket felt like a good idea but as he didn’t have any pockets on his hospital gown he had to work the entire jacket off the now heavily sedated man, put the items back in the pockets and then hastily get out of the bathroom, grabbing his own clothes from the wardrobe before moving over to the door. 

After opening it and quickly looking outside without spotting any threats, he went out into the corridor, the coat draped over his arm and his own clothes beneath it and hastily made his way over to the public restroom.   
It was difficult to say how much time he had before anyone would notice his absence or at least the absence of the guard. He had no idea how the communication between the guards worked, if they functioned according to a time schedule or if they took turns guarding his door whenever it suited them to switch positions. He wasn’t even sure where Moriarty was located and there was a potential risk that the man could show up at any second, despite visiting hours being over a long time ago. Somehow Sherlock suspected that visiting hours was of no consequence to Moriarty anyway. 

The corridor was now only partly lit on account of it being night time and patients needing their sleep. It was all in all very quiet, no people around and the restroom was empty as well. Quickly he went into one of the cubicles and changed into his own clothes, pocketing the items he deemed necessary from the guard’s coat and then left the garment behind on the floor while exiting the cubicle. On his way to the restroom he had passed a door with the sign "staff only", probably being a storage room for staff clothes or a cleaning cupboard on account of it not having a keypad lock like storage rooms containing medicine and other utilities would have. 

Risking a peek outside, confirming that things were still quiet outside, he went over to the door with the "staff only" sign, sneaking inside.   
Unfortunately it wasn’t a storage for clothes as he had hoped. In disguise it would have been so much easier to sneak out of the hospital.

Instead the room was a small cleaning cupboard. 

For a second he contemplated trying to climb up to the the hatch located high up on the wall and making his escape through the air vent, he was slim enough to be able to squeeze through, but then he decided against it, because then what? He had no way of knowing if it would lead him to freedom.   
What if he got lost or stuck somwhere in the system, then it would truly be over for him and nobody would even know that he was up there.   
Until his rotting flesh started to stink up the place of course, but by then it would be too late. He wasn't willing to risk such a fate.

A quick search around the small space produced a cleaning uniform in a tatty dark blue colour and the name Victor in a tag on the chest.   
The size was a bit too big, Victor clearly being amuch stouter man, but it would have to do, and with his normal clothes beneath it, it wasn’t that bad.   
His face and hair was still exposed though and he would need to find something to complete the cover up quickly. 

For now he had to settle with taking the cleaning cart to complete the look of a janitor as he left the room and quickly headed further down the corridor, hoping that he wouldn’t meet anyone on his way. 

Behind the reception desk was an elderly lady, clearly busy with looking at something on her phone, merely giving him a quick glance and then dismissing him as unimportant.   
She clearly didn’t recognize him, probably only mannering the reception, perhaps even only by night, so he felt safe with her not knowing who he was or who the real Victor was for that matter. 

Sherlock made his way around the desk, pretending to do his work by emptying the garbage bin into a plastic bag attached to his cart, while letting his eyes roam the area in search for the mandatory lost and found basket. There was always one of those in these type of places, somewhere were they collected forgotten or left behind items and surely enough he found it next to the receptionist's right side. A superficial sweep of his dusting cloth near the area helped him acquire a baseball cap and a pair of glasses, putting them on while the receptionsist was still engrossed in looking at her phone.   
It wasn't the most perfect disguise but at least it was something. Hopefully the guards would be fooled even if Moriarty certainly wouldn’t be.

Just as he was about to turn away and continue off in the direction of the elevator, there were steps approaching along the corridor, heading towards them in a brisk pace. 

Quickly he turned his back towards the reception so whoever it was would only be able to see him from behind as he was picking up the mop from the cart to appear to be occupied by his work and hopefully that person would mistake him for the janitor he was pretending to be. If anyone who knew him would happen to catch a glimpse of his face, the disguise was doomed to fail, but he had not other option but to go ahead with it now, hoping that whoever this person was, he would simply pass by without stopping.   
To his increasing distress that didn’t happen. Instead he could hear the approaching steps come to a stop, assumingly in front of the receptionist.

What happened next threw him completely off balance, almost forcing him to turn his head in surprise, as if to actually make sure he had heard correctly.

Because the voice who spoke, had the very familiar calmness with the hint of a Danish accent, belonging to Charles Magnussen.

“I’m looking for a Mr John Smith," he said.

Sherlock froze mid motion.   
Magnussen knew he was here? How was that even possible? 

The immediate instinct was to simply turn around and reveal himself, let the other man get him out of this place.   
But on second thought he realized that Moriarty and his guards would simply never allow it. It wouldn’t matter if he was escorted by Magnussen, on the contrary, there was a huge risk that guns were going to be fired, innocent bystanders notwithstanding. 

No, his best option was still to sneak out of here on his own, in secrecy. 

The receptionist who had probably noticed some sort of secrecy clause in the system regarding the patient John Smith, ID unknown, was not willing to tell Magnussen anything just on account of the man demanding it.

“What is the cause of your visit? These are not the visiting hours and I can neither confirm or deny that we have a patient by that name here. May I suggest that you come back tomorrow?”

She sounded grumpy, annoyed about being interrupted and Sherlock mentally shook his head at her folly. Magnussen was going to obliterate her.

“I don’t need you to confirm or deny anything. I _know_ that he is here. He is my fiancé so I have every right to see him," he replied coldly.

“May I ask for your name, please? The patient is mostly likely sleeping, he just had a visit from a nurse who helped him out with that, it’s not likely that he will be willing to see you right now if he needs his rest. I could leave him a message telling him you were here though…”

“No. I am not leaving until I have met him. If he is sleeping I won’t wake him, but I insist on seeing him.”

“It’s past midnight, sir. We don’t allow visitors at this time. I must insist that you come back tomorrow.”

Sherlock made a final sweep with his mop, the went out from reception area on the other side of where Magnussen was standing, making sure that his face was never turned in his direction. There was a risk that Magnussen, if looking closely, would recognize the curls that were sticking out from beneath the cap, but most likely he was too busy arguing with the receptionist to bother looking at a janitor moving about in the background.

He could hear Magnussen’s voice growing even frostier as he answered the receptionist, insisting that if she didn’t immediately point him to the room of John Smith, there would be consequences, while Sherlock hurried along, away from them both, towards the elevator, but stopping just in time as he spotted one of the guards stationed outside. He pretending to pass as a random fellow loitering about, a styrofoam cup in his hand to emphasize his relaxed stance, but he wasn’t fooling Sherlock who immediately spotted the signs of the real person underneath the disguise. The outline of a firearm inside his jacket, knuckles showing clear signs of faded prison tattoos, the tension in his stance despite the effort to look relaxed, he was clearly being on the look-out. 

So instead of continuing forward, Sherlock parked the cleaning cart outside another room and slipped inside before the guard could spot him.

The room was unfortunately not empty.

In an armchair, slumped sideway, was James Moriarty, sound asleep. 

Sherlock froze for the second time this evening, heart leaping up in his throat as if facing a terrifying raptor in attack mode. Shit! 

He knew of course that Moriarty would never have left him only in the hands of his guards, they had after all managed to let John Watson slip through their fingers earlier, but at the same time he hadn’t expected Moriarty to occupy a room to sleep in.   
The fact that he was even allowed to do so or that no other patient had the need for it was astonishing and highly suspicious. Sherlock didn’t even want to know how he had managed that feat and it really didn’t matter, the point was, here he was, deep asleep and Sherlock had nowhere to hide. 

The room looked exactly like the room he had occupied himself, with the exception of no bed inside. There was only an armchair, a small table, a cupboard and a door to an en suite bathroom. 

He wished that he had managed to get another vial of Propofol and so he could have injected the man in front of him. 

Another thought that crossed his mind was to simply shoot him, he had stolen hand gun after all.   
But no, Sherlock wasn’t a killer, despite how he felt about the man sleeping in front of him. If nothing else it would be a very unsatisfying end to their game.   
Sherlock wanted to beat Moriarty, put him behind bars and know that he was suffering on account of Sherlock's actions, simply shooting someone would accomplish none of that.

And besides, you couldn’t go around and just shot people in cold blood, that prerogative was for the criminals of the world, not the ones trying to fight them.   
He would be arrested for murder and change one prison for another, this time a real one.   
Not even Mycroft would managed to get him out of something like murder.

He didn’t get that much more time thinking about what to do, because outside he could suddenly hear steps approaching and without nowhere else to hide, Sherlocked slipped inside the bathroom, wishing that no one would feel the need to go in there as long as he was hiding inside.

Through the door, standing in the bathroom with the lights out, he could hear someone knocking, a firm and very determined knock followed by someone stepping inside the room.  
It was quiet for a minute, then Moriarty’s voice could be heard, still a bit sleepy.

“What is it?”

“Boss, we have a surprise guest down by the reception. It's Mr Magnussen.”

“What? How the hell is that possible?”

“I don’t know. He’s pestering the lady working there, I haven’t heard him say Holmes name yet so I'm not sure he's here for him, I went to you as soon as I saw him.”  
“For fuck’s sake, of course he's here for him! Why else would he show up here in the middle of the night? The question is how much he actually knows. Don’t just stand there, go intercept him! There is no way that bastard will be allowed to put his paws on _my_ prisoner.”

“Tom is stationed outside the room, Magnussen won’t get in. “

“ You idiots managed to lose the doctor a few hours ago, so forgive me if my faith in your abilities isn't that strong. Go ahead and stop him, I’ll be with you in a second.”

Sherlock sensed a nervous worry in the pit of his stomach, hoping that Moriarty wasn’t headed for the bathroom, if so he was doomed, there was nowhere to hide in there.

But a tense minute later he could hear footsteps going in the opposite direction and then the room was quiet. 

Despite that, he remained in the bathroom a little longer, in case anyone came back inside.   
When feeling secure enough that no one was coming, he left, crossed the room and peaked outside into the corridor. 

Further away, from where he had originally come from, he could see Moriarty and Magnussen as well as two of the guards.   
Quickly he turned his face in the other direction, towards the elevator. The man who had been there earlier was now gone, being one of the guards standing with their boss, talking to Magnussen. 

So the elevator was finally offering an option of escape.

Casually, careful so he wouldn’t attract attention, he took the cleaning cart that was still parked outside the room and then headed for the elevator.   
He knew that he couldn’t take it down to the ground floor as guards were most likely stationed there as well. Better to go further up in the building, it would be much easier to figure something out if he didn’t have to worry about the immediate danger of getting caught by one of the guards.

While he waited for the elevator to arrive, working its way up to his floor all the way down from the basement level, he could hear Moriarty’s high-pitched voice. He sounded amiable so far, probably still sticking to polite lying in an effort to deceive Magnussen. He was most likely as baffled by the man's presence here as Sherlock was. How was it even possible? Could it have been John who had alerted him? It didn't seem likely, but on the other hand, John wouldn't know how to reach Mycroft, but Magnussen would be a feasible option and he had both money and motive to get Sherlock back, perhaps John had felt desperate?

Sherlock wished he knew more about the situation and how Magnussen had found out that he was here and if he had expected Moriarty's presence as well, but there was no time to find out, he needed to get out of here. 

With a ding, the elevator came to a stop at his floor and he determinedly pushed the cart ahead of him inside, keeping his head down so as not to be recognised or more closely observed by anyone. Without looking up he could sense se that someone else was in the elevator as he made his way inside, someone who was standing in his way, trying to get out on the very floor he was trying to escape.   
A sturdy pair of shoes intercepted his path.

“Excuse me,” a very familiar voice said and Sherlock looked up in surprise.

In front of him John Watson was standing, a determined expression on his face, not really looking at him but rather further behind him, most likely at the pair of men over by the reception.

Without hesitation Sherlock pushed his cart even further ahead, forcing John to back inside again and earning himself an irritated “hey, watch it!” from the doctor.

Quickly Sherlock reached over to the button panel and pressed the one heading for the top floor, before he raised his head and met the eyes of a now very irritated John Watson, annoyance swiftly replaced by a dawning recognition and then a stunned whisper.

“Sherlock…?”

Quietly Sherlock raised his finger and pressed it to his lips in a hushing gesture while John’s mouth remained open in surprise.   
Behind their backs the doors to the elevator finally closed, the elevator transporting them a few floors up, towards a temporary safety.


	29. Lady in pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally together, John and Sherlock try escaping together but end up being in even more danger than before.

When the doors closed behind us we finally connected eyes properly, looking each other up and down as if there had been a huge time gap since the last time we had seen each other.   
Then I couldn’t hold back any longer and in a quick step forward I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly.

I could sense him stiffen at first but then he melted into my embrace and returned it.   
If I hadn’t been so happy to see him again, up and about, walking, unlike the last time I had seen him, unconscious in a bed on account of a zombie drug, I might have felt more self-conscious about showing such affections openly, but right now, under the threat of Moriarty, I simply didn’t care.   
It felt wonderful to touch him and I wasn’t willing to deprive myself out of fear of showing too much affection. We had been through enough to gratify this type of emotional outburst, even if I normally was a more held-back person when it came to these types of things. 

I suspected that he was even more held-back than I was, unless he was manipulating people with a pretended sexual interest of course.   
I knew all about that act, having both seen it and experienced it myself. But I had a feeling that what we had now was no longer on account of any acting from his part and I certainly was very clear with my interest in him. I had nothing to lose after all.   
If we died tonight it was the end anyway and if we made it out alive and he still walked away after that, well, then I had at least tried. 

“You had me really worried, you can’t image how wonderful it is to see you again,” I mumbled into his shoulder, refusing to let go, indulging in the moment.

“Why?” he said, actual surprise in his voice.

“ _Why?_ What do you mean why? Do you really need to ask?”

“You got away. You actually managed to escape from Moriarty, I’m not even sure how many, if any, can boast of that achievement. What are you doing back here, John?”

He released himself from my grip and looked me straight in the eyes now, as if searching for clues of some hidden agenda in them. 

“I was coming for you of course, you dimwit. Did you really think that I would just leave you here with Moriarty, to fend for yourself?”

He shook his head as if not really understanding.

“But you left. You were gone when I woke up?”

Before I had the chance to reply the doors opened and we had arrived on the top floor.   
He stepped out first, dragging a cleaning cart with him for some unfathomable reason and I followed close behind.   
There were people further down the corridor, two doctors and a nurse but they were not paying us any attention. 

I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly we were doing up here. The action was after all going to happen a few floors below.  
As if sensing my questions without me having to actually say them out loud, he answered with a whisper while heading in the opposite direction of the medical staff.

“Moriarty has guards placed on the seventh floor where we came from and then on the entrance level. Perhaps on others places as well, I can’t know for sure, so we need to be careful. How did you get in the elevator anyway without getting spotted?”

I grinned at the fact that he at least didn’t know exactly everything.

“I came from the basement. Special admittance curtesy of your brother. He apparently has clearance for a lot of classified systems.”

Sherlock stopped, looking over his shoulder at me in surprise.

“Mycroft? You’ve made contact with _him_?”

“Not so much made contact as being kidnapped by ones of his goons. That’s what I was trying to tell you, I never left. I was taken by gunpoint and brought to your brother’s dungeon of Doom.”

Sherlock snorted at that, his lips twitching in a small smile.

“Don’t tell him that I said this, but I’ve actually missed him and his insufferable spy games and big brother attitude. Hell, I’ve even missed his PA and that obnoxious club he calls his second home. It was probably where you were taken, am I right?”

“I wouldn’t know, I was drugged in the car over there. When I woke up I was sitting on a chair in a veritable lair worthy of a Bond villain.”

“What?! He drugged you?”

There was a hint of anger in Sherlock’s eyes now and he quickly turned away from me, continuing along the corridor, a tenseness over his shoulder.

“Yes. If it hadn’t turned out alright in the end I would have objected, it’s not really the way I would have liked to be introduced to your family for the first time. But on account of current circumstances….”

I glanced backwards to see if anyone was following us but there wasn’t anyone there. To slow Sherlock down for a second, I grabbed his arm, forcing him to a halt.

“Hey, where are we headed exactly?”

“I am not really sure. I’ll think of something. I will know when I see it.”

“That doesn’t sound too reassuring…”

“Neither does the fact that you were headed straight for the lion’s den. What were you thinking exactly? Didn’t you foresee the risks? Moriarty would have killed you on the spot, he was really agitated last time we spoke. So much, he actually tried to choke me.”

This time it was my turn to look shocked.   
Although frankly anything concerning Moriarty shouldn’t be that shocking anymore. Still, I needed to see Sherlock’s face to know that he was alright, he had been through a lot after all and I grabbed him by the arm again.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

He looked down on my hand holding his arm in a firm grip but didn’t comment on it and I didn’t let go either. Instead he answered my question, doing his best to sound nonchalant about it.

“I did pass out, but I don’t think he intended for me to die. He simply lost his temper. He knows that we lied about Sebastian and the assault. It tipped him over the edge, I think. Having you show up would have made him lose it completely. So, I’ll ask this again: what were you doing going straight back to where you came from?”

I released him and he continued ahead, me going after him, trying to keep up as well as explaining my actions, not fully understanding them myself.

“I might have been a bit eager perhaps. But I’m not alone here you know. Mycroft has sent his men, they were supposed to come from the other direction, the plan being to surprise Moriarty and take him down before he had the chance to take a hostage or do any damage. We had some help from a very unexpected diversion actually.”

“Ah, so _that’s_ why he was here! _Magnussen_. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted him at first.”

“Did you actually meet him?” I asked, wondering if Magnussen had taken the chance to explain his intentions to Sherlock. It was partly why I had rushed towards the seventh floor, Moriarty wasn’t after all the only threat there even if Magnussen lived under ridiculous delusions with no attachments to reality.   
I couldn’t imagine Sherlock ever returning to that man again, but still, the fact that he was here, determined to get his property back was enough to make me feel uneasy about it.

“No. Well, not in the sense that you mean. He didn’t recognize me, he was too busy harassing the receptionist to pay a cleaner in the background any attention.”

“Figures,” I snorted, then looking Sherlock up and down again from behind, lingering a second longer on his delectable arse in the janitor uniform. “So that’s a disguise then? I did wonder about the cleaning cart. No offence, but your fiancé is a right bastard, you know. And an idiot as well. You haven’t even covered your face.”

“I _do_ know. But people like him never really look at the people they consider beneath them, a janitor is just a janitor to them. And that’s _former_ fiancé I might add. We are hardly engaged anymore.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on him sharing that opinion…” I said but there was no time for any further explanations as Sherlock suddenly grabbed my arm, pushing the cleaning cart in front of him and darted in through a door to his right, ending up inside a room with four beds, one of them occupied by an elderly lady fast asleep.

“What’s going on?” I whispered, looking at him in bewilderment.   
He held up a hand to stop me from talking while he turned to the door, listening.

“The elevator came back, I heard the ding. We don’t know who’s in it. Keep quiet, I’ll take a peek.”

He opened the door slightly ajar but quickly closed it again.

“Ok, bad news. Cat’s out of the bag regarding my disappearance apparently. The search party is out looking. Damn!”

I glanced around the room where we were hiding. There was nothing except the four beds and the sleeping lady in here, no chance of escape through the window or anything. 

“What do we do?”

“Good news is, it’s only humpty and dumpty, not the man himself. Easier to fool. Quickly, take my clothes!”

To my surprise he started undressing, throwing the cap in my direction.

“Put it on! Your time to be the janitor now. They have no idea that you’re back so they won’t be looking for you specifically, hopefully they’ll be just as blind to what is right under their noses as Magnussen was. Glasses on as well, here!”

Beneath the janitor uniform he had his usual clothes on to my brief but still distinct disappointment, despite circumstances a quick glimpse of his naked body was still always welcome. But to my further surprise he started ripping those clothes off as well, throwing them inside the waste bin of the cleaning cart.

“Um, what are you doing…?”

I’m going back to being a patient. You are to take that cart and move along. If you meet them, and you might have to, just keep your head down and pretend to be busy. Mop a floor or something. Now, get out!”

“What? No…,” I began, because there was no way I was leaving him again. But he made an impatient shooing gesture towards the door, undressed so he only had his trousers on now, heading for one of the unoccupied beds.

“You can’t be seen in here, it will seem suspicious. It’s the middle of the night, patients are asleep and no one’s cleaning rooms at this hour. Get out and do your act, if you are discovered there is a gun in the pocket. Use it. But better to not be recognised in the first place, of course. Come back when they have left the floor.”

“They’ll recognise you if they come in here, Sherlock! You have no disguise at all now!”

“Don’t worry about me, I have it figured out. Go!”

And reluctantly I went. 

I could see two mean going in the opposite direction of where I was standing with my cleaning cart, they had decided to start their search on the other side of the corridor apparently. I could see them opening up doors, heading inside but coming out again quickly, so they weren’t very thorough in their search at least.   
Sherlock had been right about us being lucky it was them and not Moriarty himself up here. He wouldn’t have been as careless.

I felt the gun with my fingertips when putting my hand inside my pocket, it felt slightly more reassuring to have it, but still, there were two of them, and however quick I was with a weapon I had no illusions about being able to take them both out at once. 

I took the cart and headed a bit further down the corridor, then dipping the mop in the bucket of old dirty water and began to sweep the floor, keeping my head down, hoping to come across as nothing more interesting than a part of the décor.   
As they finally turned, having reached the far end of the corridor on the opposite side, my heart began to pound more loudly.  
When they came closer I could hear them taking, their voices echoing down the more or less empty space, the occasional nurse coming out from a room or entering another, but otherwise it was just the three of us here.

“…you reckon the boss’s going to kill him anyway?” one of them said, opening up another door, heading inside, the other one not even bothering to follow. They were clearly not expecting to find anything here but had to follow orders.

The other man’s answer disappeared in the noise from their own movements and my sweeping of the floor, him being a more quiet talker than the first one.   
As they came out of the room again the other was talking once more.

“…yeah, I know, I know. But they’re rivals, aren’t they? I reckon he’ll put a bullet through him before the night is over.”

I could feel my heart turn cold from fear. Where they talking about Sherlock?   
What had actually happened down there after we had left? Where were Mycroft’s men? What had happened to Moriarty and Magnussen?   
If Moriarty had been able to send his men on a manhunt he couldn’t have lost complete control of the situation? Maybe Mycroft’s men hadn’t made their presence known yet?   
It was distressing not knowing the current situation and if we acctually had a shot of getting any assistance in our escape. The prognosis according to Mycroft hadn’t seemed this bleak back at his office. But on the other hand, everything was uncertain when it came to dealing with Moriarty. Twice as much so if you counted in the presence of Magnussen as well.

They were two doors away from me now, one of the doors leading to the room where Sherlock was and I kept my back against the approaching men, head down, pretending to be fully focused on my task if they would suddenly give me any attention. 

“I can’t wait to leave this place, I’ve had no food or any rest since we got here and the boss is going mental every five minutes, I haven’t even been able to go for a fag outside. When we find that Holmes bastard I’m going to kick his arse myself.”

“Yeah, right. As if you would dare. The boss would cut your tongue out, like he did with Seb. Or your balls maybe! Better use for those than your yapping mouth.”

They laughed and went into the final room ahead of Sherlock’s, this time both went inside and I took the opportunity to move a bit further along.

This time they took a while longer and I wondered if they had somehow begun to put effort into their search, dreading what would happen when they went into the next room and acctually paid attention. Sherlock had nothing to disguise himself with, nowhere to hide, how could he possibly believe that they wouldn’t recognize him if he just lay in a bed waiting for them, however dark the room was? It was foolhardy even by his standards.

They came out, one of them still laughing, the other one snorting in annoyance.

“Can you believe that old geezer? Jeez, what do we look like? Bloody nurses? Empty your own bladder, grandad!”

“I’m dying for a fag,” the other one complained, “you reckon we could pop out for one when were done here?”

“Nah, we need to report back to the boss. If one of the others have found Holmes, then it’s showtime anyway. If not, he’ll send us to the next floor. Just get a move on, we have three rooms left and the toilets down the hall. If you’re fast about it I might consider you sneaking out for a smoke before reporting back.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Do you think he’s made a run for it? Left the building?”

“Impossible. Craig and Louie are guarding the entrance, Jimmy and the rest are covering all the other exits. There’s no way out.”

“Yeah but look what happened to Tom. I keep tellin ya, that Holmes bloke is sneakier than he looks…”

“Oh he’s sneaky alright, the way he looks at people, it gives me the creeps, like he could read your thoughts or something.”

They opened the door into Sherlock’s room, still talking, not even giving me a second glance. Involuntarily I braced myself for whatever would happen next, still hearing their conversation as they made their way inside.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I’m serious though, the boss has underestimated him or something. Everything has gone tits up since we took him prisoner. Seb dead, that doctor guy escaping, Gary gone and now Tom drugged to his eyeballs and beaten up while Holmes is on the run somewhere in the building. Then that Magnussen creep shows up out of nowhere as well, I’m tellin ya, it’s like he jinxed us”

I couldn’t hear what the answer to that testament was as the door shut behind them and I was alone in the corridor holding my breath, waiting for the inevitable. Taking the opportunity to move back towards the middle of the now empty hall so they wouldn’t need to pass me, I silently had slipped my hand inside the pocket, grabbing the gun, readying myself if needed.

But less than thirty seconds later they both came out again, still taking, no Sherlock in sight, heading away from both me and the room.

“Alright, let’s hurry up, I really need that fag and a coffee if I’m going to make it through the night. I haven’t slept in ages!”

While they continued further along the corridor, I made my way even further away from them, towards the part where they had already been, so I wouldn’t have to face them. Against all odds it seemed like we were getting away with this. 

When they were finished, they headed back to the elevator, the man craving for his cigarette and a coffee still going on about taking a quickie outside before reporting back. To my huge relief they were soon gone again.

I left the cleaning cart behind and ran back to the room where Sherlock was.

Yanking the door open, I looked inside the darkened space, being able to make out the figures in two of the beds, the sleeping lady from earlier and then…another lady.  
I stepped up to the bed and bent down to take a good look at the face.   
The body was partly hidden by a hospital blanket but the part still visible had a woman’s nightgown on, curlers in the hair and spectacles as well as make up, despite lying in bed. If I didn’t know that it was him it would have looked like any old granny resting in a hospital bed.   
Relief was rushing through me, making me break out laughing because of it.

“You utter cock!”

“What?”

“You scared the living shit out of me. Where did you get all this?”

“Courtesy of my roommate over there. Betty Walsh, apparently, long-time patient, had a sleepover bag with all kinds of useful things. I immediately spotted it by her nightstand when we came in. Better keep your voice down though, wouldn’t want to wake the old lady and alert her to the fact that I borrowed a few things.”

“Jesus, you look…”

He raised one of his eyebrows quizzically.

“Like someone’s nan?”

“Well, a bit, yeah. The make up suits you,” I grinned, lowering my voice again.

He made a self-assured nod while smiling one of his mischievous smiles. It was strange seeing it when he was in this get-up but at the same time heart-warming to see him smile again.

“I know. It’s the cheekbones and the lips, my mother used to tell me that I got all the pretty things normally intended for girls,” he said with irony in his tone.  
“You’re mother’s not wrong. Though you make a much prettier boy than a girl.”

I patted him on one of the curlers.

“Much experience with these? Admit it, it’s why your hair is so curly, isn’t it?”

Sherlock snorted, raising his hands, starting to remove them.

“It’s all from my father’s side of the family.”

“You took Mycroft’s ration as well then?”

This time he actually did laugh, although quietly.

“Don’t say that aloud so he can hear you, he’s _very_ envious about the hair.”

“I bet. You got all the good looks of the family apparently.”

And then I bent down over him where he was sitting on the side of the bed, still working out the curlers from his hair, and I kissed him.   
It was a warm, soft kiss, his lips immediately responding to mine and it took all my efforts not to intensify it, ravage his mouth with all the pent-up desire I felt, threatening to burst through me.  
As I leaned back again, ending the kiss, his eyes looked huge in the dark, looking up at me, for once a trace of uncertainty in them.

“What?” I asked.

But he just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he mumbled and then went ahead removing the last few curlers from his hair. “We better take advantage of our brief respite in the hunt and get out of here, who knows when old Betty will be stirring in her sleep and perhaps wake up. Where’s the cart?”

“I left it in the corridor.”

“I left my clothes in the bin bag. Never mind. Besides, I might need this outfit again along the way. Better keep it on.”

“Yeah, that pinkish colour suits you.” I winked.

“For your information, it’s _dusty rose_. And yes, it does suit me,” he answered and got off the bed.   
Whatever intimate charge there had been between us for a moment, it was now gone and replaced by the adrenaline of danger again. Moriarty was still out there, and we were nowhere close to getting out.

“Oh, by the way. Apparently Moriarty has taken Magnussen hostage,” he said as he headed for the door, the night gown billowing airily as he walked. “The two gorillas had a grunting conversation while being in here. Probably why they didn’t put that much effort into looking at either me or old Betty that closely, merely went towards the beds and cast a glance before heading out again. One of them had a serious craving for a smoke. As do I, come to think of it.”

“Yes, well you’re not getting any.”

“Says who?”

“Your doctor.”

And with that we closed the door behind us and started going towards the elevator.

“I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that we have a hostage situation upon us. It does explain why Mycroft’s men hasn’t been visible though, they’re probably down there dealing with the situation,” he said, while striding ahead.

Suddenly I could piece together what I had heard the two guards talking about earlier, that thing about Moriarty putting a bullet through someone. They hadn’t meant Sherlock, it had been about Magnussen.

“How do you think it will all play out? You’ve had some experience with Moriarty even before all this. Is it likely to be a violent outcome?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“That’s the thing. With him, it’s anyone’s guess. Magnussen is his partner, they have common interests and Magnussen is a valuable player, but at the same time, he has dared interfere in this situation and Moriarty is obviously not happy about it. He resented Magnussen’s engagement to me from the start as well. Moriarty’s actions are never predictable. I guess that was why I liked playing with him in the beginning.”

I couldn’t help but look shocked at his choice of words.

“ _Playing_? Is that what you call all of this? People are _dead_ , more are likely to be before this night is over. This isn’t some stupid game!”

“To him it is, he looks at things differently than the rest of us. It’s all drift wood for him, not real people. If he has to, he will kill, he doesn’t care one way or another. Doesn’t make him into someone who likes killing people though, he usually gets someone to do it for him. That’s what he had Moran for. And I will admit, I got carried away by it all in the beginning. I became obsessed about catching him in the act, pin something on him, put him behind bars, solving his exciting crimes and puzzles of course. We did both enjoyed ourselves for a little while.”

I stopped, too stumped for words.   
What was he actually saying here? That all of this had been on account of a stupid game between them and that he had actually liked playing it, despite all the casualties surrounding Moriarty, all the blood on his hands?  
Anger suddenly flared up inside me.

“Are you truly saying what I think you’re saying? That all of this is on account of some reckless, horrible game between the two of you?”

He twirled around when he heard the tone of my voice, eyes suddenly wide and regretful.   
It was the first time I had seen an emotion like that on his face, up until know I wasn’t sure he was capable of regretting anything. He always came off as so sure of himself.

“Not all of this, no. It all started before. Before Magnussen even. I happened to cross his path unknowingly and all of a sudden I had myself a “fan” as he called it. He arranged a crime for me to solve, a true brainteaser of a puzzle and that’s how it all truly began. I was hooked immediately, never having encountered such a master mind before and he was just thrilled apparently. And that’s all it was in the beginning, us playing some sort of cat and mouse game involving crimes, until I grew bored and wanted to end it by actually do my best catching him, not only enjoy solving whatever crimes he threw my way. He was never the culprit getting his own hands dirty or anything, always just the brain behind the planning, so it was very difficult to get to him, not only for me but for the police as well. But I still decided that I would go after him instead of focusing on the small fish he surrounded himself with. He resented that idea of course and the tone between us grew more agitated, until we were sworn enemies. Or he was mine at least. He still harbours some sort of ideas about him and me being together, continuing the game, removed from London, away from Mycroft and his meddling, new scenery, new opportunities. But I turned it down and the rest you know. I plotted taking him down, got engaged to Magnussen and so forth, you were there for the rest of it. And now, here we are, many tribulations later, hopefully a bit wiser, and with a win or die situation in our hands. All I care about right ow is getting us both out of here alive. We can deal with Moriarty another time if we don’t manage it tonight, he is of no consequence anymore. I’m tired of this game, I am tired of him. All I want is to go home.”

He looked me in the eyes, searching and that feeling from before was back. He was unsure of something and it pushed my anger away for the moment, making me wonder instead what he was actually thinking about.

But he didn’t say anything more, he simply turned and continued towards the elevator.  
I caught up with him as he reached for the button. 

“If you were given access to the basement from Mycroft, that might be our best chance right now. If we make it out of here we can contact Mycroft and tell him that we’re safe and he can order his men to take down Moriarty," he said, still not looking at me.

“He might kill Magnussen.”

“Yes, there is a risk of that," he admitted. I wondered how he truly felt about that outcome. Did it bother him on some level or was he truly done with everything regarding this mess? A dead person was still a dead person, despite who that person was. Perhaps he felt like Mycroft, that Magnussen had brought this upon himself and deserved whatever he got?

“Magnussen came to get you back tonight, he told Mycroft himself, before heading here. He tried blackmailing your brother, or so he thought anyway.”

Sherlock actually rolled his eyes hearing that.

“How stupid. No one can blackmail Mycroft and get away with it. I thought he was smarter than that,” he snorted, looking up at the number display of the elevator approaching.

“Well, he tried. He said you would come with him willingly when hearing the option. He wants to have you and take you apart apparently.”

“Don’t they all…,” Sherlock muttered.

“I don’t,” I said, and he turned his head to look at me.

“No. That’s right, you don’t,” he conceded, and I nodded, assured by his belief in me. “I can’t figure out _what_ it is you actually want from me, John Watson. I can’t figure you out full stop.”

I smiled a crooked smile and winked.

“Well…if we ever make it out of here alive, you have the opportunity trying to figure me out to your heart's content. If you want to.”

He looked at me, just as the elevator reached our floor, the familiar dinging sound above our heads and the door beginning to open up.

“You know what? I actually might,” he said, bending down slightly to press his lips against mine, for the first time kissing me, really kissing me, instead of the other way around. 

I was just leaning into it, savouring every feeling rushing through my body as I felt the slip of his tongue trying to gain entrance inside my mouth, when there was suddenly a sharp intake of breath coming from the now fully open elevator. 

Before I had the time to fully register what was happening, Sherlock broke the kiss, turning his head towards the sound, me following suit, not a full second after. When I saw who was standing there my eyes widened in horror.

Still in the elevator was Moriarty, rage marring his features, eyes like molten lava of wrath, a gun dangling in one of his hands.   
Before either of us had the chance to react, he had raised the hand and pointed the gun to my head, his finger reaching for the trigger.  
We were lastly caught.


	30. Braving the fire til the feeling hits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closure.

It happened very quickly after that initial second of utter horror, Moriarty raising the gun to my head, his finger going for the trigger and Sherlock releasing me as if being electrocuted and then launching himself at Moriarty, without hesitation.

The gun went off and at first it was difficult to ascertain where the bullet had ended up, the two men struggling for dominance, seemingly without any indication of being hit by a bullet. So my first thought was that it had simply hit the roof or perhaps a wall.

Not until they both tumbled over each other on to the floor did I see traces of blood.  
Frantically I was trying to see who was bleeding but was unable to discern it and was just about to launch myself into the fight, going for the hand with the gun, when I heard Sherlock shouting: “No!” in my direction and then swiftly releasing himself enough from Moriarty’s grip to be able to fling himself towards the buttons, hitting them hard, which immediately made the doors begin to close. 

He then went for the doors just as I stepping forward in an effort to prevent them from closing around the fighting couple inside.  
Thinking that he was perhaps trying to escape through them at the last second I was completely shocked when he instead raised his leg and in a swift motion kicked me away from the door, causing me to fall backwards, mostly on account of the surprise of his actions and not so much because of the force behind the kick. 

Then the doors closed and I watched, still in shock, how it began to descend. 

Quickly I scrambled to my feet again and rushed towards the emergency stairs by the end of the corridor, pounding down as fast as I could to the seventh floor. 

Bursting through the doors by the end of the corridor, the first thing I spotted was a group of men further ahead, locked in a sort of standstill.  
On one side was Magnussen, a gun trained to his head by a muscly man standing next to him. He in turn had a gun aimed at him by what I assumed was one of Mycroft’s agents.  
But no sight of either Sherlock or Moriarty.

Before I had the chance to turn around Magnussen spotted me and called out my name, resulting in the group turning their heads in my direction.

“Hey, it’s the doctor!” one of Moriarty’s men blurted out, surprise in his voice, probably thinking I was an idiot for having returned here. 

But considering the state of mind I was in right now, I only cared about where Sherlock's was and whether he was the one who had been shot, adrenaline dictating my movements, more on impulse than from reason. 

“You idiots should be focusing on that man over there instead of me. He’s probably the one who helped Sherlock escape in the first place! Get him!” Magnussen commanded, trying to free himself from the hold of his arm by Moriarty’s man, resulting in a yank back in place and the gun pressed more firmly to his temple. 

Despite having figured out what sort of a man Magnussen acctually was, I was still stunned that he would so readily throw another person in danger to save his own skin. His jealousy probably played a part in it, I could see it in his eyes even now, it was more than just pure resentment, he most likely believed his own words and hated me. It frankly bordered on the pathological and resembled what I had seen in Moriarty’s eyes a few minutes earlier.  
But still, the audacity of turning the attention away from him and onto me? The man was obviously completely without morals and decency.  
Despite the fact that a gun was trained to his head and the man holding it had a deranged boss who could order the gun to be fired at any second, Magnussen had been surprisingly calm until he had spotted me. Now he showed the same frantic behaviour I had seen when talking to Mycroft a few hours earlier. 

The three men I assumed to be Mycroft’s agents since they were pointing their guns on the man pointing his at Magnussen, were looking at me as well, except for the man actually still facing his target. 

“If you know what’s good for you we advice you to get out of here, Doctor Watson,” one of them said, clearly displeased with another attention-grabbing detail to keep track of, as if the situation wasn’t precarious enough.  
At least there was no sign of any medical staff in the vincinity and I could see that the reception area was abandoned as well. Perhaps they had been allowed to leave. At least I hoped so.

“I’m looking for Sherlock,” I began to clarify my presence but was simply met by a snort.

“Aren’t we all? Why do you think we have this situation in the first place?” another agent said.

“No, you don’t understand. I met him. Earlier!”

That at least earned me a reaction.

“What? Where?”

“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the fact that we ran into Moriarty and a gun was fired. One of them is injured, but I never got the chance to see which one. They disappeared down with the elevator and I thought they would end up here, but I guess I was wrong. We need to find them now!”

There was a sudden hesitation in the group of men in front of me, all except for Magnussen who had remained scowling at me over the rim of his glasses. 

I could understand the hesitancy, because Moriarty had probably left this scene as it currently was, perhaps with an order to not doing anything without his specific say-so and now he wasn’t here to tell his men what to do and Mycroft’s men couldn’t do anything either as long as a gun was trained to Magnussen’s head. 

Apparently they were not prepared to risk the life of one citizen for the good of several others.  
I felt that I myself wouldn’t have had any problems with that.  
¨  
Suddenly I remembered that I still carried the gun Sherlock had given me and without further hesitation I whipped it out and pointed it at the man holding Magnussen hostage.

“I said _now_!” I barked.

My intention had been to whip everyone into action, because I really needed the help finding Sherlock and Moriarty before something terrible happened, but what happened instead was that the man I was pointing my gun at lost his focus for a second, his eyes going from the agent pointing his gun at him to instead looking at me and the agent therefor took the opportunity of the lapse in attention to quickly move in and with a swift motion knocking Moriarty’s man over the jaw with the help of his weapon.

Moriarty’s man staggered backwards from the blow, his outstretched arm falling away from Magnussen and before anyone else had the opportunity to take back control of the situation it all fell apart instead. 

Magnussen saw his chance and made a run for it, towards me and the stairs.  
It was difficult to say if the goal had been to reach me or if he actually just tried to make a run for it, the elevator was after all also a viable option for escape and it was located just behind me.  
Confused by his sudden charge towards me, I shifted my aim towards him instead of the staggering man behind him and for a quick second I actually thought that I might have accidentally fired my gun when a resonating shot rang and Magnussen staggered to the floor. 

But then I saw that another one of Moriarty’s men had fired the shot, just as he himself was hit by a bullet in his arm by one of Mycroft's agents. 

Angrily I saw how every chance I had hoped for, getting any help in finding Sherlock, was diminishing by the second as more shots were fired and even a physical struggle began between two of the men. 

Between them and me Magnussen was writhing in agony, clutching his hands to the gunshot wound that was now bleeding profusely from his right calf. The shot had only been fired in an attempt to stop him from getting any further, not actually killing him, but if he wasn’t able to get help soon it could very well end up with the man bleeding to death. 

The doctor in me argued that I should do something to help him, that it was my duty and a part of the Hippocratic oath I had taken when becoming a doctor , but the human, and at this moment very dominating side of me, argued against it.  
So instead of waiting for the chaotic result of the showdown to subside, I turned around and rushed back towards the stairs while reaching for the phone Mycroft had given me before.

Just like the phone Moriarty had given me before entering the ambulance, this phone was pre-tampered with as well, only one single number stored in the contacts and as I was pounding down the stairs to the next floor in a vain search for the two arch enemies, I dialled that number, hoping to get in contact with Mycroft.

Only one signal was needed before I had the man himself on the line.

“Well?” he said, as calmly as ever, like he was discussing what tonight’s dinner might be and it immediately raised my hackles. 

“It’s all going to hell! Your brother and Moriarty ended up in a fight involving a gun, resulting in one of them being shot, but I have no idea who and which bodypart and now I don’t even now where they are! They started the fight inside an elevator and suddenly Sherlock just pushed the button as I was about to join in, kicking me away and off they went. Meanwhile your men and Moriarty’s men involved themselves with a standoff on another floor, Magnussen trapped in the middle. When I arrived, the situation spiralled out of control and now no one is available to help me look for Sherlock.  
Oh, and by the way, Magnussen managed to get himself shot. Not fatally, mind you, but still injured by a bullet and I just left him bleeding on the floor to continue my search, which normally goes against every oath I've ever taken in my professional life, but this place is enormous, and I have no idea where they have gone and if your brother might be bleeding to death somewhere, I simply didn't have the time nor the inclination to help Magnussen. I need you to help me out, we need to find Sherlock before it’s too late!”

I panted with excursion after my rant, just as I was reaching the next floor and flung the door open, looking for the two combatants or anyone who could help me.

On the other side of the phone it was quiet for a few seconds, for once Mycroft Holmes was apparently too stumped to speak. When he finally did manage words, the indifference was gone, even if describing his tone of voice as worrying might be going too far.

“I’ll send in back-up. I have a crew outside the entrance, so that exit is covered and Moriarty won’t be able to get out that way, but you’re right, it’s too big an area to cover on your own. Continue your search but rest assured that back up is on its way. And don’t worry about Magnussen. That situation will be handled whatever the outcome.”

With those words he hung up and I ran through the corridor of the sixth floor, wildly looking everywhere for any signs of either Sherlock or Moriarty while heading for the elevator. It seemed like the fastest way to move from floor to floor and as no one was standing in my way on this particular floor I reached it without incidents, but unfortunately also without finding what I was looking for.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

Meanwhile, on a completely different floor…

Moriarty was pushing Sherlock along an almost empty corridor, his gun pressing against the detective’s shoulder blades whenever his pace was slacking off, forcing up the speed while he was grinding his teeth in pain.

His left shoulder was now bleeding profusely, despite his attempts to put a dressing over the wound and fixating it with some tape.  
Sherlock had acerbically commented that his method was as effective as fixing a gunshot wound with a band aid, the bullet needed to come out and every movement he made risked damaging even more tissue, but Moriarty’s only reply had been an angry snarl.

Sherlock wondered where John was.

When Moriarty had showed up from the elevator and raised his gun, training it directly at John, ready to pull the trigger, the logical part of Sherlock’s brain had suddenly logged out and he had acted out of pure instinct.  
He didn’t like that, he prided himself of always keeping a cool head even under the most dire of circumstances. But this time he hadn’t managed it. 

With the sensation of their kiss still tingling on his lips he had launched himself at Moriarty, with only one thought on his mind; that he needed to prevent Moriarty from shooting John. 

The shot would have been fatal, the distance was nothing to speak of and Moriarty was decently skilled with using a weapon, despite surrounding himself with various henchmen. It would have been an easy process to end the doctor’s life. 

But instead Sherlock had managed to interrupt the attempt and also, successfully, prevented John from getting into any further danger.  
He had acted out of instinct when he had seen John approach the elevator, quickly pushing the button and then kicking the doctor’s firm chest as carefully as he had managed, not wanting to injure him, but still needing the force behind the movement to propel John far enough away so he wouldn’t end up in any more danger.  
His final image of John before the doors had closed around him had been the stunned (and had there not been a bit hurt as well?) look in his eyes.

But it had been for his own good. 

John could not end up as collateral damage in Sherlock’s game with Moriarty. He had no part in any of this, he was only here on account of bad circumstances and by turn of events he could not have predicted when accepting Sebastian Moran’s offer of a job.  
John Watson was a good man, more decent than Sherlock could ever hope to be himself and if there was one thing he knew, despite having lost the ability to foresee where this night would end, it was that at least John had to survive it. 

Sherlock found himself slightly surprised by how strongly he felt about this, but at the same time, the fact that he, _Sherlock Holmes_ – the detached calculating machine who only ever expressed intimacy as part of a scheme to lure a foe or people connected to casework- had instigated the last kiss they had shared, it spoke of something, something new he hadn’t felt before. 

It seemed banal and too simple to address it as love, he had no idea what love was and had always worked under the assumption that it was simply a chemical reaction, triggered by something stored in the memory section of the brain and nothing to do with true feelings.  
People claiming to be in love simply had a rush of endorphins and oxytocin hitting their system, resulting in that feeling they were so fond of calling love, but in reality it was all just down to neurochemistry and he had most likely felt a similar rush of wellbeing and elation when performing his work in a satisfying way or cracking a very complicated case.  
That particular moment when his mouth breathed out an exhilarated “Oh!” after his mind had gone 180 miles/minute and the solution suddenly unwrapped itself inside his mind, making him seeing everything clearly all of sudden.  
His drug use, at least in the beginning, had offered some elevated feelings as well, pure happiness spreading through his highly-strung body, making his limbs relax and his sometimes torturously racing mind become crystal clear.  
He never felt as smart as when high on Cocaine, despite what Mycroft claimed about him simply fooling himself.

Whatever he had began feeling for John Watson, and he had to reluctantly admit that something had been woken up inside of him, he couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he did know that he cared about what happened to John, and him ending up a victim to the evil of Moriarty was not an acceptable outcome.  
Sherlock had done his best to prevent that from happening and if John felt hurt over being left out, so be it.

At least he would be safe.

While the elevator had taken them down to the entrance floor, Moriarty had surprisngly calmed down when realising that he had been hit by a bullet.  
Releasing his grip on Sherlock he had simply risen to his feet, inspected the wound and pushed the button so the elevator would go up again as soon as they hit the floor Sherlock had initially pressed the button for.  
Sherlock realised that the entrance floor would do neither of them any favours, Moriarty’s men would be there but probably some of Mycroft’s as well, if John’s story was to be relied on, so the fact that Moriarty instead hit the button to the top level once again was not surprising. 

Most likely John wouldn't be there anymore, probably having made a run for the stairs, trying to intercept them by foot instead.  
There was a chance that he hadn’t spotted which button Sherlock had pressed so he would be running blindly, perhaps even going for the dreaded seventh floor where a showdown was surely taking place between team Mycroft versus team Moriarty.  
Fervently he hoped John wouldn’t stop at the seventh floor though. With Magnussen thrown into the mix, odds were that John wouldn’t make it after all.

Shaking that thought away, he focused on the situation at hand instead, deciding it being in his best interest not to talk too much. Moriarty being wounded both physically and emotionally would be like shaking a hornets nest. 

Not advisable.

When Moriarty eventually managed to find a room with some medical supplies, he ordered Sherlock to help him by putting a dressing over the wound.  
As he still carried a gun, Sherlock followed orders, but couldn’t help muttering that line about band aids not being able to fix bullet holes.  
So much for not shaking the hornets nest…

Moriarty hadn’t reacted any more than simply snarling at him and then pushed him out of the room, following cose behind, the gun pointed at Sherlock’s back whenever his pace slowed down. 

They kept going until they reached the door leading to the helipad on the roof and suddenly Sherlock’s mind was up to speed again, seeing Moriarty’s intentions clearly.

It was surprising that he hadn’t worked it out earlier and he wasn’t sure how he could have missed this detail when he claimed to know Moriarty’s way of thinking as well as he did.  
Of course the man had the resources to order a helicopter to transport them away from this place. It had probably been a part of the plan from the beginning, as soon as they had arrived at the hospital.  
Sherlock knew that no ordinary discharge routine would ever have been an option, he was written into the system as John Smith after all and Moriarty had wanted to avoid both Mycroft’s and Magnussen’s attention.  
Even if he had failed in that regard, it didn’t mean that the original get away-plan wasn’t the perfect one. A helicopter could take them away from here, no need for any paper trail and they could even leave the country if Moriarty really wanted to. 

In fact, that was most likely the plan.

Abandoning his initial idea of no talking he instead tried stalling the inevitable by opening his mouth, speaking in his most imperious drawl, copying Mycroft for the full effect of disdain, while his mind started rushing, grasping for a solution, _anything_ , to get out of this situation. 

“That dressing is doing you no favours, the likelihood of catching sepsis is increasing by the second. See, it’s more like an indicator to the wound than actually doing it’s job off shielding it from bacteria.” he began but Moriarty was not overtly bothered it seemed.

“I’ll take my chances. I have antibiotics and a crew available soon enough.”

“Soon enough? So you’re not heading out of England then? Well, I suppose you wouldn't be able to anyway, considering the fact that you will need clearance if you want to fly through the airspace.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Sweet. I have people for the boring logistic details like that, so don’t concern your pretty little head about it.”

Moriarty’s confidence was back now, despite everything and it grated on Sherlock’s nerves to notice this, annoyance struggling for dominance with the rising alarm he felt about boarding a helicopter with Moriarty.  
He knew that once whisked away, there would be no turning back.  
He would be out of reach for Mycroft’s protective hands and he would never see John again. 

“You can't manage a longer flight in the condition you’re in, not even you would take such a risk."

“You don’t think? Well, we just have to see then.”

They had reached the door out to the roof now and Moriarty pressed the gun more firmly against Sherlock’s back.

“You know what the lesson in all of this is, Sherlock?  
You and the doctor took someone away from me, even made me kill him on account of some lies concocted by you two and then the betrayal just went on, like you were some illicit couple in love, scheming right under my nose. I must admit, I didn’t see your part in this. Sure, the doctor, he was like a lovesick puppy already from the beginning, barely containing himself during that first dinner party, practically coming in his pants with desire. No wonder Magnussen despised him so.  
But you? Loving anyone but yourself? No, didn’t see it happening.  
That sort of love is just pedestrian. Its not for people like us. You and I operate on a completely different level.  
Or so I thought.  
If I’m mistaken about you, this little adventure of ours might end earlier than I first intended, but I am at least taking you out for a test drive before deciding your fate. That delectable package is worth some of the effort, even if the brilliant mind I thought you were in possession of, turns out to be as boring and predictable as everybody else’s.  
The lesson here is that we both underestimated each other. You thought that you could sneak away with that pathetic little dog and escape my clutches without me ever realising it or catching you. And I underestimated what you really are behind that cold-hearted persona you display to the world. I still have the chance to be proven wrong and for old time’s sake I’m willing to give you one last chance. It’s because of all the promise I have always seen in you. That body of yours is going to be mine either way and if you prove to be as hollow as that kiss with doctor Watson showed signs of you being, then I’ll ravage your used body until you beg for mercy and then discard of you wherever I see fit, well out of reach for anyone you have ever known. You brother and the dog will forever be wondering about what happened to you. That almost makes up for you making me kill Sebastian.”

“I did no such thing. Your jealousy killed him. We merely presented you with a scenario, you reacted on your own accord.”

“But you _know_ me, Sherlock. That outcome must have crossed your mind even if the doctor was clueless. And that is in the end why I think there might be some promise in you. Because that plan was quite devious, worthy of something I myself would come up with, if I was as inclined to play childish games the way you are. It’s very fun, I get it, but a bit immature perhaps. Time to step up and join the big boys, don’t you think? Show that pompous brother of yours that you’re more than a gimmick with a flair for drama, wrapped up in a great coat.”

Sherlock sighed.

“You know I hate repeating myself but I guess I can blame your weak state of mind to you suffering a severe blood loss from that sepsis-inducing gunshot wound. I _won’t_ join you. I _won’t_ become part of your crime syndicate. I _won’t_ follow so much as the tremble of your finger in any direction you'll be pointing me towards. I've already told you this repeatedly in the past. Last time you gave me this speach, you ended up with a scratch to your cheek, but I can see that it's healed now. Maybe I need to remind you again?”

They were staring at each other, the chilly night air nipping their skin, Sherlock’s dark curls whipping in the wind. Above their heads the sound of a helicopter was now approaching.

“You can scratch me all you want, Sherlock. When we settle down. But think it through. Life gets boring when you have nothing to occupy that brilliant mind of yours, you might just as well use it for something. Good or bad, does it really matter in the end? I let the useless issue regading morals dissolve a long time ago.”

“It has nothing to do with morals. I’m simply not willing to do you bidding.”

There was a flash of anger in Moriarty’s eyes, there for a second but then gone again the next. He ripped of his bandage from the wound, letting it be taken by the wind, sending it whirling away over the roof top and disappearing over the edge. 

“Fine. Be that way. Let’s see what you say after a couple of weeks.”

“You know I won’t change my mind. I’ve already been your prisoner for several weeks and never once have I given in to you. It’s a waste of your time as well as mine.”

“We’ll see…,” Moriarty muttered and then turned towards the descending helicopter, not offering any more words.

It was now or never. 

In a few minutes they would be up in the air and it would be too late for any more manoeuvres.  
Sure, perhaps he would one day manage to escape Moriarty again but the odds were just as strongly pointing to his own death before that would occur, so he eyed the helicopter instead, quickly calculating his chances of a successful escape. 

The rotors were still in motion when it landed, which indicated the whish for a quick departure, it was ready to leave the second the two passengers were safely on board, the pilot not even bothering to acknowledge their presence, just simply waiting for them all to depart.

The gun in Moriarty’s hand was still trained at Sherlock, forcing him to be the first to climb on board and then pretending to be seated while the crime lord started to climb inside as well. 

Moriarty did his best to keep control of the weapon but he was unable to fully get in without lowering it slightly for a brief moment.  
And for the second time that night Sherlock took advantage of the element of surprise by delivering a swift kick, this time with much more force behind it than earlier and instead of the firm chest of John, he aimed straight for the gunshot wound in Moriarty’s shoulder. 

The man stumbled backwards in pain and by pure reflex dropped the gun to the floor of the helicopter while he tried reaching back for support, but unable to find any. With a movement that might have looked comical under different circumstances, he landed on his back and subsequently also hitting his head on the hard surface of the roof.

Sherlock wished that he could have relished the sight, perhaps even have snapped a picture so he could have savoured the moment later on as well, but he right now he couldn’t afford the luxury of time, already grabbing the gun while Moriarty was still falling backwards and then quickly turning it towards the pilot, ordering him to ascend. 

The pilot made the effort of trying to turn his head, but Sherlock determinedly barked that they needed to depart immediately or he would actually fire the gun, and the pilot, clearly used to Moriarty following through with whatever threats he made, didn’t dare do anything else. 

As they began to lift from the ground, the rotors working up in speed, Sherlock looked down at Moriarty who had begun to scramble up to his feet, eyes large and bulging with rage but foremost they seemed shocked, looking like he wanted to run after the rising helicopter but seemingly understanding the pointlessness of that action. 

“Give me your phone!” Sherlock ordered the pilot, forcing himself to turn away from the form of Moriarty growing smaller and smaller back on the ground and instead focusing on the pilot. 

There was no room for any more mistakes. John’s life depended on it. 

“Head for King’s College hospital and don’t forget even for a second that I have a gun trained to your head. Now, the phone, please.”

As soon as the phone was in his hand he dialled Mycroft.

Ignoring the onslaught of conflicting feelings when hearing his brother’s voice after such a long time, he did his best to convey the most important news as effectively as he could, ordering Mycroft to focus on retrieving John and secondly to catch Moriarty.  
Most likely he would not stay long on the roof but if they managed to move quickly, there was still a chance of catching him. He was injured after all, his plans were destroyed and had no obvious way out of the hospital without actually ordering another helicopter to come get him. That was always a possibility but it would take some time and if Mycroft’s men didn’t completely bungle this up, there was actually a chance of catching him. The most important thing was to safely retrieve John though. 

Tiredly he leaned back in his seat, still holding his hand with the gun firmly pointed to the pilot’s head but otherwise sighing deeply, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. 

When the helicopter finally landed on the roof of King’s College hospital and he could see the solid and imposing figure of his brother standing on the roof, ready to greet him, umbrella firmly gripped in his hands, suit impeccable but the look of worry mixed with relief marring the normally formidable person that was the British Government, making him look human for once, Sherlock couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight, at the same time promising to give his brother a pass, just this once. He was after all relieved as well. 

When eventually descended and informed of John Watson’s well-being, his knees almost buckled from exhaustion. But he was satisfied. 

It was finally over.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

But it wasn’t really of course.

When he met up with John a few hours later everything was different and it all felt very awkward.  
Without the rush of adrenalin and danger lurking around the corner it was difficult to know how to behave and what to talk about, a silence settled between them instead and Sherlock could feel something reminiscent of a lump lodging itself in his throat out of sheer disappointment.  
In the darkness of the night it had all felt so natural and now it was like moving through treacle. 

John noticed it as well, it was evident from his body language and the silence stretched on until Sherlock finally couldn’t take it anymore and was prepared to make a run for it, just to get away from the situation.  
How he had ever thought this could be any different from what he normally felt interacting with other people was beyond him.

He had told John everything that had happened after they had been separated and John had told his story as well, but when recounted like this, it all seemed so futile and small.  
Sherlock didn’t even manage to make his great helicopter escape sound grand, the words simply fell flat.

“So,” he finally finished off, trying to sound normal about it, “What’s your plans for now? Back to the field? Hospital work?”

John shrugged.

“I don’t really have anything to go back to. That was the reason why I took Sebastian Moran’s offer in the first place.”

Sherlock simply nodded, unsure of what else to say. Luckily John decided to step in.

“That ending, with the helicopter, it sounded all Bond-like. I wish I could’ve seen it.”

Without looking up, fiddling with a pen he had found and procured from Mycroft, Sherlock frowned a bit.

“You keep coming back to that name. Bond. The way you described Mycroft’s office like a Bond lair, and now this as well. I have no idea who that is.”

John’s eyes widened a bit in surprise.

“Really? You never heard of James Bond?”

“No. Who’s he? Some sort of footballer?”

John laughed and the lump in Sherlock’s throat eased up a bit by the sound of it.

“No. He’s a fictional character. Originally based on a book series but people mainly know of him from the movies.”

“I don’t really care that much for popular culture.”

John chuckled and placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, the warmth from it seeping through the fabric of his shirt. It felt surprisingly nice and Sherlock couldn’t help but lean into it a bit.

“Yeah, I sort of got that,” John said, his finger slowly travelling down the arm to Sherlock’s hand. “Maybe I could fill you in on some of it someday?”

The finger went over Sherlock’s knuckles, and then ending with all his fingers clasping Sherlock’s hand beneath his, firmly squeezing it. It felt reassuring and Sherlock did finally look up.

“There might perhaps be some other gaps I could help you fill in as well?” John continued, a small smile playing on his lips now.

“Can’t imagine what those gaps could be. I have an above average intelligence and I have a degree in chemistry from Cambridge. Not to mention my exceptional gifts in criminology and…”

The rest of his words were swallowed up by John determinedly pressing his lips to his mouth.  
The initial surprise at being interrupted, quickly melted away and he reciprocated the kiss, soon letting John’s tongue gain entrance and savouring the unfamiliar feeling of kissing someone he actually liked. It was a novelty indeed.

“I’ve been waiting for hours to continue what you started just before we were interrupted by Moriarty in the elevator. The thought of your warm lips against mine is what kept me going throughout the whole night," John panted.

“Sounds like you placed a lot of faith into such a small gesture,” Sherlock murmured, already on the verge of leaning forward to continue the kissing. But John stopped him by placing a hand against his chest.

“Not a small gesture, no. You’re wrong about that. Maybe you’ve doled out kisses to whoever it suited you to kiss in the past. More than kisses even. Like you did with Magnussen for example. But I like to think that what we did…what we _do_ is different. If I’m wrong, I would like you to tell me now so I can leave. I’m done with games for a while now. These past weeks have been exhausting. I’m glad that it gave me the opportunity to meet you, but I never want to set eyes on Moriarty for as long as I live and if...”

This time it was Sherlock’s turn to interrupt the flow of words with a kiss. Mumbling under his breath while gently kissing John, exploring those lips he had to admit afterwards had kept him motivated as well, he said:

“I’m usually the one people tell to shut up. Glad to notice I’m not the only one who talks too much when there are other things to be done.”

John smiled beneath his kisses and his hands came up to grab Sherlock’s neck, putting him firmly in place so the kiss could once more deepen in intensity.  
He was half-way through devouring Sherlock’s throat with his tongue, savouring that translucent skin, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Sherlock’s while still burrowing his hands in the dark, newly-showered curls, when they were suddenly interrupted by a door opening behind them, and Mycroft entered.

Sherlock scowled at his brother but was still a bit breathless, so he didn’t offer any snarls about being interrupted at a bad time. 

John in turn, didn’t seem embarrassed at having been caught in the act. Quite the contrary, he seemed very pleased, if also a bit flushed from excitement. Interesting…  
Sherlock wondered how far he could take this new information. There would definitely be needed some experimentation done on the subject.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

The first time I laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes he was engaged to be married.  
To someone else.  
But he was the most beautiful, fascinating man I had ever met and that feeling never changed, whatever course we went through over time.

He was a man who thought love was simply a chemical reaction caused by neurochemistry and had nothing to do with, what he would pronounce with a tone of contempt, “feelings.” 

Over time I proved him wrong and despite him fighting a bit against it at first, being a man of science at heart, he finally came around to my reasoning and saw the evidence himself as we grew closer and he finally, out of the blue one morning, our naked bodies still entwined after a shared night in his bed, pronounced that a life without me by his side would never be a possibility again.

When Mycroft arrived that morning to talk to us, interrupting my very thorough examination of Sherlock’s sensitive skin with my tongue, we were informed that Moriarty was dead.  
He had apparently jumped off the roof, choosing to end his life rather than being captured.  
Sherlock said he probably feared that his life would turn boring if getting caught, and perhaps he was right. After all, Sherlock knew more about Moriarty than anyone else. They had once shared a love for the intricate game after all.

“So fortunately, there is no need for you to chase after him anymore. It’s over now,” Mycroft said, scrutinising his brother to see what impact those words would have on him. It had probably been his worst nightmare having to witness his younger brother’s dangerous entanglement with the former criminal master mind. There was still something wary and a bit worried in his eyes but Sherlock wasn’t looking at him, but instead his focus was solely on me. 

I moved in with him to his very dodgy lodgings in Baker Street.  
Dodgy in the way that it was unkempt, very dusty, it smelled a bit funny and his stuff were everywhere. Not to mention the fact that he had a skull residing on the mantlepiece. A real skull. 

But I managed to make my mark on the place as well and the old landlady who owned the place beamed with delight that someone with a bit of sense was finally moving in, to turn the place a bit more into a home were you actually wanted to live, not only a place to merely exist.

Magnussen survived the night, despite his injury, but he ended up in a wheelchair. He went after us almost the second he got out of hospital but Sherlock had gathered enough evidence about his activities to put an end to that story as well.

“See, it was worth a bit of kissing his reptile lips in the end,” he beamed, but I shook my head at those words.

“From now on you’ll need to find other ways to take down criminal masterminds. If you want me along for the journey there can be no faking relationships, no getting kidnapped, no hair-brained scheming without talking it through with me first.”

He looked at me in surprise.

“So you would consider tagging a long on some casework in the future then? I thought you would’ve had enough for a lifetime after all we went through. I seem to recall you saying that you never wanted to see Moriarty again for as long as you lived. “

“Yes. And as he is now dead, I won’t have to. But there are plenty of other criminals out there to catch. And I have a feeling that if I choose a life with you, I’m accepting the whole package. Criminals, danger and detective work as well as sex and romance and lazy lay-ins in bed.”

“ _Romance_? I don’t do _romance_." 

“Oh but I think you do. In your own particular, very twisted way. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”


End file.
